Girls Night Out
by sohypothetically
Summary: Present day A/U. Johanna Mason copes with a breakup the only way she knows how: going on a man-hunt. She brings her roommate Katniss Everdeen with her and the rest is frat party history. Rated M for explicit language, sexual innuendo, and general snarkiness. Written for Prompts in Panem Places Challenge, Prompt: Frat House. (Ships: Jo/other Everlark, Gadge, Odesta)
1. The Frat Party

GIRL'S NIGHT OUT

_I do not own The Hunger Games._

_Summary__**: **_Joahnna Mason copes with a breakup the only way she knows how: going on a man-hunt. She brings her roommate Katniss Everdeen with her and the rest is frat party history.

_Rating__**:**__ M_

_Triggers__**:**_ Language, sexual innuendo, general snarkiness

_Prompt__**: **_Places, Frat House

—-

"It's too fucking quiet in here." I glare at my roommate and flop down on my purple and pink polka dot bean bag chair. My roommate, Katniss, just gives me a quiet look.

"Well, it is. All you do is study. You're a fucking stiff. And don't start with the 'but being here is such a great opportunity' bullshit. I know that your Mom and sister are starving at home or something while you are here in glamorous Los Angeles…" It's a cheap shot: I know that maligning Katniss's little sister Prim is sure to pick a fight. I'm not disappointed.

She slams down her pencil (_who still does their homework in pencil?) _and glares at me. "Do not bring my family into this. We are lucky to be here in L.A. You should appreciate the sacrifices of your family more."

"Yeah, yeah." I reply drolly. "We're here in South Central Los Angeles. It's not like it's fucking Hollywood or anything. There's nothing to do here. I wish I had a car." I pop up and am pacing around our small dorm room like a caged tiger. I finally settle on opening a box of Nilla Wafers and dumping a handful into a bowl. I top it with milk and chocolate sauce and root around on top of our micro-fridge for a clean spoon.

Katniss's voice is laced with concern. "Oh, no, Jo. Not again."

"Everdeen, do not start."

"You guys broke up _again?_" Katniss gapes at me. I can't tell if she's looking at my face or the awesome culinary monstrosity I am shoving in my mouth. She is referring to my off-again, on-again relationship with the hot ROTC guy from upstairs. And by on-again, off-again, I mean that I like to spend some of my time "on" him, getting "off". Get it?

I crack myself up.

"When are you going to give up on him and move on?"

I slurp through the slurry of Nilla Wafers and milk, then wipe my mouth with a wadded up Kleenex from my side of the desk. "Move on? Are you kidding? I'm just getting started. Have you _seen_ him in uniform? Yum. I just like to keep him on his toes." I stare her down, daring her to contradict me. Usually she puts up a good fight. I need one right now because my heart still hurts from Brian's, "I love you, I'm just not in love with you" speech. _Prick_.

Tonight, she just shakes her head. "Jo, you're better than this. I don't care if he does look better than _Top Gun_ _in 3-D,_ you need a more stable relationship. One where the guy cares about you the way you care about him."

"Stable?" I say it like it's a dirty word. "That's for old ladies. Wallfowers – no offense to the present company. You know my motto…"

She finishes it for me, "Body by _Ferrari_, heart by _Jeep_. You should add 'stomach of iron' to that." She motions to my empty bowl. "That's disgusting. How can you eat that?"

Katniss has an eating disorder or something – she barely eats. She says it's something about growing up poor and she doesn't want to get too used to having a lot in case she ever has to live like that again. It generally works out for me because I never have to worry about my roomie eating my food.

Our relationship works because neither of us judges too much. Or maybe because we judge each other too much. Hard to tell. Bottom line, though is that I would walk through fire for Katniss fucking Everdeen. Just don't tell her that.

I shrug. "I needed a snack. You know I get hungry before dinner, and I hate what they serve in the dining hall anyway. What's today? Meatloaf?" I give an exaggerated shudder. Meatloaf day in the dorm cafeteria is enough to make me want to go vegetarian.

"No, it's Thursday that's the Malibu Chicken Sandwich."

Did I mention that Everdeen doesn't eat? She memorizes the menu, though. It's like she got caught for stalking food and food took out a restraining order. I'm excited by the thought of the Malibu. It's a breaded chicken patty with ham and muenster cheese. They top it with some special sauce and put it on a bun. _Yum_. Something to look forward to tonight besides watching a chick movie like _Stick It._

I know, it's a glamorous life I lead. This is why I like Brian to liven it up a bit.

Wait a sec. Did Everdeen just say that it's Thursday? I know what we're going to do tonight. Katniss must see the gleam in my eye because she's eying me warily and shaking her head. I'm sure she knows what's coming: she usually sees my crazy ideas coming before I do.

—o—

So we're walking down the street: Katniss, her friend Madge and I. Madge is a real looker – all soft, blonde hair, pansy blue eyes, and curves in all the right places so that she looks like an old-school pin-up girl. Seriously. She's so gorgeous that even I'm about a twelve hour Lifetime for Women movie-marathon away from pitching for the other team. I had Katniss ask her because she's boy-bait. She's the anti-Katniss: quiet and soft spoken. I'm sure there's a dominatrix personality in there somewhere and I can't wait to see it someday. Guys just eat that shit up. They can't wait to open the door for her, or get a drink for her, or just breathe in her Love's Baby Soft or whatever the hell scent she wears. I don' even care that I'm going to swoop in and pick off the leftovers: Madge's leftovers are that good.

We're headed to the ultimate feast of male flesh: a frat party. It's like a co-ed buffet. It's the ultimate place to work off my anger at Brian with some young, pretty, limber guy. Someone who has more staying power than sense, preferably. I can't wait to lose myself in some rock hard abs. Heck, I'd take some mushy-as-sand abs right about now. A girl's got to get her confidence back, right?

Which is why I am surprised when, as we're walking down Adams and turning onto fraternity row, a guy jumps onto the fence around a frat house. He looks a little bit like a golden retriever, all blonde wavy hair and exuberant smiles. He is, of course, smiling his big puppy dog smile right at Madge (_Good call, Mason!)_. The best part is that he is hotter than a Hemsworth and I mean the cute, blonde one.

"Hi, ladies." I swear those dimples are enough to make me devour him whole.

"Hi, handsome!" I swagger up to him while Katniss and Madge simper like pansies.

The Hottie doesn't take his eyes off of them, though. _Damn Madge and her soft pink sweaters._ "You ladies coming to the party?"

_Duh_. Oh, that's too bad: his elevator doesn't go to the top floor. _Hello, Captain Obvious! _ I decide then and there that I will call him Brainless. I generally like my men with a little more going on upstairs, although he is hotter than Chris Evans as The Human Torch in_ Fantastic Four_. And those dimples! And those jeans! I might be able to talk myself into him.

I smile a toothy grin in his direction and say energetically, "Absolutely."

He beams. "Can't wait. Come on inside."

And just like that, we walk into Lambda Chi Whatever. Thank God for Madge's pink sweater, because we're in without a door fee and the typical fight from Katniss over money. Brainless from outside is nowhere in sight. The girls and I grab our Red Solo cups while I scope out the target rich environment. It has all the best elements: beer pong, groups of hot guys milling about, free-flowing beer, and _(best of all), _not a lot of girls yet to spoil the hunting.

I assume my mission to nail a guy is blessed from above when I see the translation of Lambda Chi's motto above the door, "Every Man a Man." It's like I'm in the Diet Coke commercial where the ladies in the office building watch the construction workers - I know I've come to the right place.

—o—

Brainless finds us and we talk for a while. Frankly, I am having fun getting a pleasant buzz on and watching him flirt with, surprisingly, Katniss. I didn't even think Katniss Everdeen knew _how_ to flirt. I'm sure she's seen a picture of a man once or twice, but this is the closest to one I think I've ever seen her get. Maybe some of it has to do with Madge's earlier exclamation of, "Peeta? Peeta Mellark?"

I have no idea what that meant, except that Brainless flushed all the way up to his ears and hung his head sheepishly. It was so adorable that I almost had to go get a tennis ball for him to fetch. Turns out that he's an old high school friend of Madge's, which may be why he turned his attentions to Madge's wingman instead. I'm pretty sure he recognized that I was out of his league almost immediately by the way he kept skittering away every time I tried to size up his bulge.

What? If you're going to chop some wood, it's important to know the size of the log.

Anyway, I'm having fun watching Katniss act like a girl and not a student-robot for once. She's smiling. I swear that I even saw a hair flip. If Brainless isn't careful, he might unleash the huntress within. And here I thought she might not ever be ready for a vibrator! I guess she's been reading up on the side and moved right to the advanced level. I smile at the thought of my little Katniss all grown up and talking to a penis with a pulse. She'd fucking deck me if she knew what I was thinking, which just makes me want to laugh out loud.

I decide to check out the rest of the party. Katniss and her wingman are going to be just fine – it's not like they are alone as long as they have their faithful companion, Brainless. I can tell by his earnest expression that he's more reliable than a seeing eye dog.

I get in a parting shot while he's gone to get refills for the three of them." You bring that back to our room, you had better bring out the puppy pads."

Katniss looks at me like I'm crazy. It's a pretty normal look. "What, Jo?"

I throw a thumb in his direction. "He's so youthful. So full of energy. He's like a golden retriever puppy. Does he do one word commands?" I waggle my eyebrows. I know Katniss can fill in what sort of commands I would give him. She hits me on the shoulder surprisingly hard: she may be thin, but she's wiry.

"He's a good guy."

"And how do you know him?" I raise an eyebrow. I'm playing with her, sure, but I'm also nosy as hell.

"We knew each other in high school."

Now, it's important for you to know that Katniss does this thing when she's embarrassed or lying. Sure, she blushes sometimes. But when she's really being cagey, she tucks a ghostly strand of hair behind her ears two or three times, smoothing it back like it's out of place.

Katniss raises her hand to smooth a hair that isn't there behind her ear. I grin at her. _Gotcha._

"Ah? Did he know how to spell G-spot back then? Because it might be time for you to give him a pop quiz, Kat. Don't worry, I won't be home tonight." I see the warmth of a blush across her cheeks just as Brainless comes back with the beer.

I scram because I hate being a third wheel. Let him scrounge up a friend for the gorgeous but tragically lonely Madge — I'll find my own wood in this forest.

—o—

I head to the rear of the house, where the music is so loud that I can feel the bass in my teeth. There are hot, sweaty, gyrating bodies dancing and it's like watching vertical foreplay. I love the primal feel of it. I decide this is my new hunting ground and find a spot to stand while I tap my foot in time to the music. One hand is holding my Red Solo cup, the other is looped casually in the pocket of my jean mini skirt in the girl gesture for _I'm available._ I scout the territory. There are some promising possibilities, including a guy doing a keg stand who looks like The Rock, complete with tribal armband tattoo.

I make my way over to him ready to make him my Scorpion King, when I notice a small card table toward the back corner of the room. It has a passel of guys seated around it, sort of like a bird feeder for boys. I abandon my rock-hard friend and mosey over to what looks like a poker game. And a game like that, with a bunch of guys as my audience, is a game I want to play.

Yeah, I'm competitive. Shock, right? It doesn't help that Brian has stomped on my heart so I want to take an axe to the nearest male I see. A poker game is the perfect place to cut someone down to size. One way or another tonight, I'm gonna fuck somebody, even if it's only their wallet.

Poker is a game of skill and I have a time-tested strategy. I put on my best _I'm a girl_ voice and change my body language to tone it down. I'm hoping it no longer says, _Hi, wanna fuck? _And now more closely resembles, O_oh, is that Poker? I've never played before…_Which is what I say out loud. A bunch of male heads turn in my direction and it's like a pack of wild dogs are checking me out as meal potential. Ah, a bunch of overeager males: this is going to be so much fun.

Someone pulls out a chair for me (_how sweet – I bet he calls his Mom at least once a week_) and tells me that he'll help me with the rules. He introduces himself as Brue and asks me if I'm at the party alone. I widen my eyes innocently.

"I'm here with a couple of friends. My roommate is back there talking to a guy. They seem pretty into each other…" For a second I feel a genuine flash of concern. Katniss _is_ back there talking to some total stranger. I push the concern aside for two reasons: one, Katniss is quiet but is pretty bad ass when she wants to be. I've never seen a girl fight like she does when we argue. Two, Brainless looks like the worst thing he'll do is lick her to death. Which she might enjoy, if she didn't have such a stick up her ass.

Brue furtively looks at my cheerleading t-shirt with its strategically placed megaphone bearing my name. Here's another guy-fishing pointer: megaphones make their I.Q. drop twenty points at least. It could be the fact that mine is right over my breasts which are oh-so-perky in their push-up bra, or the idea of a limber girl in a short skirt … If you can get your hands on anything with a megaphone on it, do it. I came by my shirt honestly and I plan on using it like a _Get into pants_ _free_ card.

"Jo-Jo?" He asks tentatively.

I giggle. "Johanna. My name is Johanna." I giggle again. He falls for it hook, line and sinker and the rest of the guys fall in line as well. I learn all of their names: John and Scott and Jason and Chris. The super-hunk of dark and brooding manhood introduces himself as Gale.

_He's named like a girl? You've got to be fucking kidding. _Evidence, again, that God has a sense of humor.

Brue is being a sweetheart and explaining the rules of five card stud in small words, obviously thinking I am either impaired or an idiot. Maybe he's hoping I am just that drunk. I wonder if I should let him down now or save him as a backup in case I can't close the deal with the Super Nova at the other end of the table but I decide against it. Brue seems like a nice guy and it's always good to have a friendly face to have your back, especially in a room full of guys. Everyone needs a wing man, right? Despite Tall, Dark and Broody, the rest of the table is totally buying my innocent girl act. And Brue is adding credibility to it, completely, by treating me with the respect and consideration of a little old lady being escorted across the street.

I decide then and there that I'll slip him some of my winnings. Because I _will_ win.

—o—

An hour later, Dr. McHottie is the only person at the table still sober enough to be a contender. He keeps staring at me over his shots of Jaeger, shooting me dark looks. If he were any more brooding he should be wearing an REM t-shirt. It's late, his glares are getting old and I'm so bored that not even the thought of him removing my undies with his teeth cheers me up.

"Well, boys, it's been fun." I stand and begin to collect my winnings, ready to take my game elsewhere. Two of the guys laugh at me. One snores. Brue is passed out, so I take a wad of cash and shove it into his pocket inconspicuously. He probably won't remember any of this tomorrow and it feels like the least I can do when he was so nice to me.

He-who-is-hot- but-has-the-name-of-a-chick says drolly, "How about we take a more private game upstairs, just you and me?"

I pause: one the one hand, he is Captain-of-the-Starship-Enterprise-hot. On the other hand, I'm tired of his glares and his quiet intensity and his bullshit. If I wanted angst like this, I would read my english classics assignments. Or call Brian. Still, it's late – way past two and finding someone to ride off into the sunrise is going to be difficult at this time of night.

So I say the only thing I feel like is really an option. "Sure."

As I'm following his Mark Wahlberg t-shirt torso and Channing Tatum ass up the stairs and congratulating myself on a pretty great consolation prize, I spy the familiar braid of my roommate moving down the hall. She is following a glowing yellow head that I can only assume to be Peter or Pedro or whatever his name is. I give Katniss a mental hi-five and remind my drunken brain to talk to her tomorrow. Hopefully she's remembered the three rules our Resident Advisor Effie has drilled into our brains: penis, partners, prophylactics. _Check for penis, check for partners, bring your own prophylactics._ I giggle - that's how fucking drunk I am.

It's the sight of the old-school Lita Ford, Bon Jovi, and Warrant posters in Gale's room that makes me guffaw. _Holy shit, the guy is a closet 80's hair band throwback! _I can feel myself humming music that reminds me of my parents, which is decidedly not cool. I decide I have to take matters into my own hands…as it were…to counteract the parental vibe.

—o—

It's barely six when I wake and I feel pretty good. Hey, it's the curse of a fast metabolism, what can I say? I assess all body parts for soreness and love bites and then make short work of finding my clothes. My date, if you can call him that, snores lightly. Even asleep he is amazingly hot: like a Baldwin back when the Baldwins were _it, _but without the pesky mat of chest hair. I dress. My spiky hair is strategically planned for walks of shame, so I just run my fingers through it. I check my pockets for my keycard and cell phone, make sure I have all the cash I came to the party with (plus my winnings) and quietly close the door behind me.

Something downstairs smells great. I use the facilities quickly, trying to touch as few of the surfaces as possible – have you _seen_ fraternity bathrooms after a party? – and practically jog down the stairs. Whatever that smell is reminds me of being back home on Christmas morning and spending time with my Mom and Dad before the rest of the kids woke up.

I love mornings. Shh. Don't tell anyone.

I round the corner to find the blonde guy (what was his name, again?) who was with Katniss and Madge last night baking. _Fucking_ _baking!_ I would laugh, but the smell coming from the oven tops the orgasms I had last night. My mouth starts to water. I swear that his hotness quotient just went up about 2 points with room for more if whatever he made turns out to be from scratch.

"Oh, hi, Johanna." He says sheepishly. Like I caught him masturbating or something. "Can I get you some coffee?"

I don't do coffee because it gives me the jitters. My body is a temple, alright? "I'm more of a tea gal, myself."

He smiles at me and those killer dimples flash. "Girl after my own heart." He hands me a mug of something steamy and strong; just the way I like it.

I smile back at him because it's impossible not to in the morning brightness filled with those amazing smells. "Speaking of hearts…where is my roommate, Katniss?"

He doesn't even miss a beat. "She's still upstairs, asleep. She really doesn't do very well with alcohol, does she?"

Uh oh. Katniss has a nasty habit of being a puker. I grimace in commiseration. "I probably should have warned you."

He shrugs and laughs. "I doubt I would have listened. I just wanted to spend time with her."

"So you ended up holding her hair back, huh?" Katniss inspires that sort of thing. I've even done it a couple of times.

I stare in awe as he removes two dozen muffins from the oven. I notice he's got a couple more trays of various things ready to bake. "What's with all the baked goods?"

He rubs the back of his neck. "Baking relaxes me – I grew up working in my Dad's bakery. Everyone's usually pretty hungry after a party, so I thought I would make some stuff."

The smell may be distracting, but the famous Mason nerve endings are a-twitching. I take in his tired, sad eyes, wavy hair tousled - but not from sleep- and the slump of his shoulders. I put it all together. "You had a thing for her in high school, didn't you? And now that you've reconnected…you're scared? Of what?" Katniss is the most loyal person I know: if she thought enough of him to go upstairs, then she's all in.

He moves slowly and sits at the long, scarred table. His shoulders slump even more as he huddles over his mug. "I've liked her for a long time but she's in love with someone else."

"Love?" I squeak loudly, and it's not just from the jet of scalding blueberry that just exploded in my mouth like a tiny atom bomb. I would know if Katniss loved anyone. She's my roommate, for God's sake.

He sighs heavily. "Yeah, she's always been in love with Gale Hawthorne. I never stood a chance."

I pause in the midst of cleaving another blueberry muffin in half to cool so I can actually taste it. I hope the nerve endings in the roof of my mouth come back. "Did you just say _Gale_?" There cannot be two guys with a name like that on the planet, can there?

"Yeah. He's another fraternity brother of mine."

It's not lost on me that I have possibly slept (and I use the term lightly) with my roommate's love interest. I shudder: an Everdeen crossed is not a good thing. I'm going to have to calculate contingencies because I don't think she is going to buy my _but I was really drunk and his washboard abs lured me in_ defense.

I shake my head to try to clear it, suddenly remembering why I think the guy in front of me resembles a golden retriever. "You're fraternity brothers with the guy who supposedly has the heart of your long-time crush? Are you for fucking-real? Why would you do that to yourself?" _And I thought my relationship with Brian was complicated. _Although the words are harsh, my tone is not. I can't be mean to a guy who looks the way he does and is feeding me glorious-from-freakin'-scratch blueberry muffins.

The timer dings and he pulls another batch of muffins out of the oven, swapping cookie sheets with some unbaked cinnamon rolls. I vow reverently that I am at least sticking it out until those are out of the oven and iced. He flops down heavily and we sip our tea in silence.

"What happened to Madge last night?" I ask him.

"She crashed in my room too."

I gawk. "Let me get this straight: you dress like you're from Abercrombie. You're hotter than Brad Pitt in Fight Club. You held hair back for two girls last night, let them crash in your room and can bake like this? What's the catch? Because you've got to be a pervert, or killed someone or something."

He grins at me and it's boyishly sweet. It makes me want to deck my roommate and tell her to wise up. "Thanks, I think. I don't think I'm a pervert. And I haven't killed anyone that I know of…"

I snort. "The pervs never think they're perverted."

"I'm a totally normal guy."

"Sure you are."

"No really. What you see is what you get." He holds his hands out, palms up.

I bit into a scone and close my eyes. _This is heaven._ "Then she's a fucking idiot."

The words are still hanging in the air when I see his eyes grow wide. _Speak of the devil._ Katniss is a pretty quiet walker, so I'm placing bets that he's jittery all of a sudden because it's her standing behind me.

"Good morning, sunshine." I throw over my shoulder in her direction.

Katniss is not a morning person and she looks like hell: her braid is askew, her green t-shirt has a stain on it that smells like tequila and she is frowning with eyes that barely seem to be open at all. She winces at the loudness of my voice.

Her voice is much softer when she greets us. And by _us_ I really mean _him. _She is already ignoring me. "Good morning, Peeta. I hope you don't mind, but Madge will be down in a couple of minutes. Then you can have your room back."

Peeta (_that's his name!) _ is already up and moving around the kitchen. He puts a cup of coffee, a glass of water and an aspirin in front of her without even needing to be asked. It makes me want to punch him. _Grow a set, man!_ Katniss nods her thanks and takes the pill, then drinks the water thirstily. Peeta nudges a muffin in her direction but Katniss shakes him off.

_Sometimes she is such a bitch. _I snatch the muffin and eat it myself.

We hear a commotion on the steps, a soft giggle and a louder, decidedly male one. I swear I recognize at least one of those voices….Sure enough, it's Madge and Gale, acting chummy.

"Hey, Peet. I was just telling Madge how great your muffins are. She's in for a real treat." Peeta's gotten quiet all of a sudden. I look over at him curiously, then at the couple just joining us. Madge's smile seems to be sliding off her face. She suddenly looks…well…guilty.

Why would Madge look guilty? It's not like she boned Gale last night_. _The prick hasn't even acknowledged me. Two things hit me simultaneously: _Katniss doesn't know that I was with him _followed quickly by _Holy crap. Madge likes Gale._

What the fuck happened while they were all in high school?

I'm staring from one face to another in abject fascination. Katniss looks like she might throw up again, Peeta looks more hurt by the minute. Madge fidgets like she is trying to hide something. Only Gale still has the cool confident look of Matt Bomer. _Damn his strong jawline all to hell and damn him for his total lack of loyalty to Katniss. _ I hate a man who needs more than one woman.

No, I am not a fucking hypocrite. I'm not talking about monogamy versus anything else. I'm not even talking about physicality. I'm talking about a man (or woman) who needs the emotional attention of more than one partner to feel whole. Whether it's because they are insecure, or because they are an attention whore, being an emotional vampire is just not cool.

I'm trying to read into the suddenly oppressive silence that has fallen over the room when I feel my cell phone vibrating. It almost jolts me clear out of my seat. I look at the screen: it's Brian. _Fucking Brian!_ No way am I picking up now. This is just too juicy to leave alone.

Gale is eating a muffin looking like he owns the place. The ladies look clearly uncomfortable. Peeta looks like he wants to crawl into a hole and die. I decide to take matters into my own hands. After all, I am a lady of action and Peeta is a man seriously lacking in game.

"So, Peeta. Exactly how long have you been in love with my roommate?"

I can see the _Boom_! on their faces when I launch that grenade right into the center of the room. Peeta looks stunned, frozen in place like a rabbit. I feel my cell phone vibrate again and judiciously ignore it just so I can watch Gale go from satisfied to brooding, Madge's fidget-y guilt clear and Katniss…well, the most surprising look is Katniss's.

I thought she'd be mad at the attention, or flattered but humble that a hot guy likes her. I thought it would be the only way to deflect questions about my time in a frat house all night seemingly alone with carnal knowledge of her high school crush. Instead, she's staring at Peeta. _Is that a fucking blush?_

I ignore the third vibration in my pocket: this is way better than Brian. This is better than being stuck in an elevator with the entire baseball team. I grab a chocolate muffin and take a satisfying bite. If that look on Everdeen's face means what I think it means, there will be a whole lot more baked goods around my dorm room in the coming months.

This year just got a lot more interesting.

_(A/N: Special thanks to Baroness Kika and Sighing39 for the cheerleading on this.)_


	2. Lost

_I do not own The Hunger Games._

_Many thanks to Sighing39, BaronessKika, Honeylime and ForFutureReference._

**LOST**

"Wake. Up."

"No." I say. Katniss has clearly had enough, but _fuck her_. I need to wallow. If I didn't get my ass out of bed for a little mattress calisthenics with Brian, I am clearly not getting it into gear for her. She can just bite me.

Why am I in such a funk? You'd think after hooking up with the guy who turned out to be Katniss's first love and dodging the bullet that it could have been by throwing a super-hot guy named Peeta at her that I would be in great shape. I think back to the day after the party: we got back to the dorm. Katniss's phone rang and she discovered that I had given Peeta her phone number. We fought. Brian texted. I had great make up sex up against the door of his room, then again before dinner.

The next day, I discovered _it_ missing. I shied away from the thought of _it_ being lost and move right to the angry, need-to-forget sex that I had with Brian (rough and doggie-style, thank you very much!).

It turns out that I well-and-truly lost something that I hold very, very dear. I can't find it. Any-fucking-place. It's the only one of its kind and it's gone, probably forever. Whenever I think about it, my stomach clenches and it makes me want to puke. And since I'm not a puker by nature (unlike Katniss), I want to lie under the covers and feel sorry for myself.

And no, I'm not going to cry like some pussy. I'm beyond that. I'm going to wish I were dead.

I think I hear Katniss walking away from my bed. I wonder if I'm imagining it because she's so freakin' quiet. Still, I think I hear her socks on our carpet. I have a minute to wonder what she's up to and then wish I had earplugs in.

"Is that One Direction?" I have to yell over the music – that's how loud she's got it cranked. I love Niall Horan as much as the next girl, but _really_, Everdeen? I'm trying to wallow in my misery to _Kiss You_ and it's impossible. It's all I can to hold my body still instead of tapping my toes to the beat. The least she could have done was play something angry instead, like P.O.D. or Jet.

I deserve to lie in bed this morning and wish for my own demise. After a week of holding it together, going to classes, studying, and looking for the thing I've lost, I am entitled to lay in bed and hope rigor mortis sets in, or something horrible, like Typhus. Cholera. Ebola.

Katniss is yelling something and I almost miss it. I think she is saying something about not wanting to have to "pull out the big guns" and it almost makes me snort with laughter. Yeah. Like she has big guns. _Brian. Now he has a big gun._ And like I said, if not even the thought of him plowing me hard from behind is enough to get me up….

What is that smell? _Oh my God…is that…_

I've only ever smelled a smell that good once in my young and impressionable life: at a frat house a week ago. It was right after I forced Peeta to confess his undying love for Katniss. (Ok, I did the confessing for him. I'm sure he'll thank me for it, someday.) He pulled these cinnamon rolls out of the oven and I swear - I fucking swear – the earth moved. If Jesus himself gave me a choice between heaven and those cinnamon rolls, I would choose the cinnamon rolls.

I pull my head out from under my bright pink comforter. Katniss is holding a plate of steaming cinnamon roll mere inches from my head. When I reach for it, though, the bitch moves it out of my reach so I have to sit up. She actually makes me get up and go sit at the desk like a real, alert human before she'll put the plate in front of me. I pounce on it like a cat on a tuna fish, or that scene in Beauty and the Beast where the Beast tries to eat oatmeal and it goes everywhere as he tries to figure out how to get his face in the bowl. The minute the image crosses my mind, I shy away from it. _Don't, Jo. Don't think about. _Disney princesses are enough to make me want to climb back into bed and howl.

"So you saw Pedro?" I lick frosting and some sort of yummy cinnamon goo from my fingers. I know that his name is really Peeta, but I'm not going to give Everdeen the satisfaction. I need to bait her in retaliation for pulling me out of bed. I still want to nuke all of humanity and I'm not forgetting that.

She rolls her eyes. "Peeta. His name is Peeta. And yes. I saw him. I had to. Because _someone_ gave him my cell number." She smirks at me like I'm going to rise to the bait but I'm not. I don't have it in me and she frowns when she picks up on that. She watches me practically lick the plate. "We're invited to a barbecue at the frat house tonight. He's grilling." She waits for me to bite on the pun. When I still don't because I'm still too close to the edge of the gaping chasm of hurt, her frown deepens and she finishes the thought for me. "Jo, your line is, _Don't you mean he's smokin'_?" She sighs when she still doesn't get a reaction.

This is what I love about my roommate: she's able to play these little games without so much as giving an inch. It keeps me in line. And if you tell her that, I'll fucking deck you.

"Anyway, he's grilling. As in hotdogs and hamburgers, potato salad, baked beans, the works." She's tapping her fingers on the desk to the beat of the music and totally oblivious that she's memorized another menu.

I can't leave it. I can't. My willpower is just not that strong, no matter the grief. I know, I suck. "Are you going to eat a _hot dog_?" Now I'm just pushing her. I know she'll hit me sooner or later. I'm relishing it, really, almost as much as I am enjoying the mental picture of Katniss Everdeen trying to shove an entire hotdog in her mouth a la speed-hotdog-eating contest. As much as I want to picture that, watch Peeta's face as she bites into it and then laugh at the both of them, I know I can't. Not tonight. "You have fun with that, Everdeen."

She doesn't rise to the bait. She looks at me and says, "Do you want to talk about it?"

My first instinct is to drop my eyes but I fight it. "No."

She must know it's bad because she pushes, "You just haven't been right all week, and…"

"Drop it, Everdeen. I don't want to go."

She watches me as the music switches to _Live While We're Young._ "I don't want to leave you alone."

I shrug, like it's no big deal and I don't want to just have her leave me alone so I can ransack my half of the room looking for this thing and then cry when I don't find it. "We can still chill for a few hours, right?"

"Jo, it's after 2 pm. You've been asleep fourteen hours."

Wow. That's close to my record. Last time I slept for fourteen hours straight was after the trip my cheerleading squad took to Tampa senior year. You try coming down off four days of Diet Bawls energy drinks mixed with a cayenne pepper/lemon juice colon cleanse and see how you do.

"I guess I needed the rest." It's all I can say. I know it's not enough when I see her eyes narrow at me.

"I'm not going either, then." She crosses her arms over her chest.

That. Is. It. Fucking pity from Everdeen? I don't think so.

I stand up and stretch, making a big show of it. I walk over to my dresser and casually pull out some clothes. Taking my time, I get my towel down from its place next to my bathrobe. I put the whole pile on my bed. Then, I conspicuously lay a bottle of K-Y and my purple vibrator on top. I want to send her a message loud and clear: do not pity me_. I do not need a hug._

I say casually, "Well, I was hoping for some alone time. But, I guess I can finally show you a thing or two with the purple monster here."

She blanches, stammers something and then bolts out of the room.

Problem solved. Finally some peace and quiet.

Except, I don't want peace and quiet. I don't want time to think.

I turn up the music in order to drown out the woohoo girls next door. (That's where the girls next door are having such a raucous good time that they keep shouting _woohoo_ for no apparent reason. It happens a lot.) I'm in the middle of a grueling rotation of crunches, pushups and burpees when I hear a knock at the door.

It had better not be the woohoos asking me to turn it down.

"What?" I shout over _Good Vibrations _(thank you Marky Mark)_. _

"Johanna Mason, how do you spell _rowdy_?" The confident voice on the other side of the door says. It's a voice I would know anywhere. I immediately want to smile, no matter how bad my day, because Finn Odair has that effect on people.

I fling open the door. "It's r-o-w-d-i-e." He helps me spell it, but he ends it with a _–y_. I laugh. Finn, though, takes one look at me, frowns and hugs me. Which I allow.

Surprising, right?

I've known Finn since I was seven years old when we met at cheerleading camp. Finnick Odair was my base. I was his flyer. We have a special relationship that only years of grueling punishment and high levels of physical contact can give you. He knows everything about me, and I mean everything. The man has shoved his hands into places on my body during routines that even Brian has not dared to go. I am not exaggerating when I say that I would trust him with me life because, every time I stepped out onto the floor for a routine, that is exactly what I did.

You might think that I would have hooked up with him at some point, but our relationship isn't like that. I trust him way too much to have sex with him. Plus, Finn is way beyond hot: he's actually beautiful. He is the reason I know what Carly Rae Jepsen means when she sings, _It's hard to look right at you, baby._ He is an Adonis of the first order: golden hair streaked with sunlight, sea green eyes below dark eyebrows and a tan all over. He's so gorgeous that I've seen other cheerleaders walk into walls when he comes in the room. Girls swoon - literally fucking _swoon - _over him.

"Jo, you look like hell."

"Thanks. To what do I owe the pleasure?"

"I got a text from your phone that said something about you giving me a blow-job if I came over right away." He waggles his eyebrows in invitation. It makes me want to giggle. Can you believe it? Giggle. Like I'm twelve and don't have other things on my mind.

"Fucking Katniss." I shake my head.

"Is that your roommate? I'd love to meet her sometime. Because obviously I don't want head coming from someone looks the way you do. Or smells." He wrinkles his nose. "You need a shower."

"Thanks, Finn. Always a pleasure."

"All the ladies say so." He grins and immediately flops down on Katniss's bed. I hope he's rubbing some kind of boy-stink on her pillow, just to get back at her. "You want to talk about it?"

"No. Will everyone stop hounding me?" I glare at him. Finn and I have enough history that he's not going to push directly forward. So he lures me with the one thing he knows will work.

"Well, ok. I was going over to Baskin Robbins for some mint chocolate chip. Thought you might want to come. But there's no way that I'm going anywhere with you looking like this." He motions to my entire body.

Ice cream is my downfall. OK. It's _one_ of my downfalls. But right now the thought of cold, creamy ice cream is a lure I cannot resist. The bastard knows me too well.

He smirks in my direction like he knows he's got me. "Look. I'll make you a deal: I'll come back in 15 minutes to pick you up. If you're not showered and dressed, I will personally carry you to the shower and scrub you down." He spies the pile of clothes and stuff on my bed, complete with the lube and vibrator and then corrects himself. "I had better make that 20 because you obviously had something planned."

He gets off the bed, leaving the covers mussed. _Katniss deserves it._ "Remember, I'll come in and wash you down myself. A lot of girls would hold out just to take a shower with me, you know. Twenty minutes."

The only retort I can think of as he walks out is, "Fuck you, Finn."

I close my eyes and lean against the door. Sometimes friends are too much trouble. Even ones that look like Greek gods.

I know Finn will make good on his threat to throw me in the shower and scrub me down. As much as I love him, I want to avoid the inevitable scene that will develop when my all-girls floor sees a hot male enter the bathroom. Like I want to explain _that_ to my Resident Advisor Effie. I hastily undress and grab my bath things after stowing the purple monster back in my dresser and head to the shower.

I hate to admit it, but Finn was right. A few minutes spent under practically scalding water with vanilla body scrub and I feel like a human. Once I've showered, I hang out in my room, put some stuff away and half-heartedly rifle futilely through my drawers. I'm just about to get dressed when there is a knock on the door.

I call out in exasperation, "Finn, you're early" and fling open the door. Except that it's not Finn. It's a medium height, medium build, dark haired, blue eyed guy who might be a cutie if he wasn't frowning. I know that he looks familiar, but I can't place him. His eyes widen and his frown turns into a deep scowl as he takes in the sight of my wet, spiky hair and towel. Like he's never seen a semi-naked girl before? I doubt it. He's not quite Ryan Lochte, but he's close.

"Jo, right?" Your roommate, Katniss, said you would be here." He must notice the blank look on my face because he continues explaining, "I've been texting both of you. I got your number from Gale. I'm…"

"…Brue." We both say together. I'm surprised that I recall the ultra-polite wingman from the frat party a week ago. I'm even more surprised that he's shown up on my doorstep. It feels a little creepy, like he's stalking and I hitch at my towel in annoyance. I watch his eyes follow my hands and then come back up to my face as he swallows. When he asks in an irritated voice if he can come in, I realize he's not nearly as polite sober as he is drunk. Or maybe I'm just annoyed and he's upping my ante.

"So, what can I do for you?" I say as I let him in.

"I was wondering why I woke up last weekend with a pocketful of cash. When I asked Gale, he laughed and said I should ask you. But you didn't answer my texts…" he trails off.

He came all the way to my dorm to ask me about a pocketful of cash? I'm not buying it, so I say coolly, "It's your part of my winnings from the poker game." He doesn't seem to recall the game at all, so I start patronizing him and talking to him like he's a child. And not a very smart one. "The poker game that you helped me win?" I tap my foot and frown at him. "Exactly how drunk were you last weekend?"

He grins briefly and it's like sun coming out from behind clouds - his hotness quotient goes up about five points - he's much, much cuter when he smiles. "Pretty drunk. So, you're saying that I helped you win at poker somehow? Exactly how does someone help someone win at poker?"

"Yeah, you treated me like a girl and everyone fell for it." I can't help the self-satisfied smile that crossed my face and sticks there. I'm still pretty proud of my strategy.

His frown is back and annoyance is heavy in his voice when he says, "So you bilked my friends out of this money and expect me to keep it?" When I respond to his annoyance by tugging again at my towel, he says in exasperation, "Can you _please_ put some clothing on?"

Fucking prude. Like I'm going to let some strange guy tell me what to do, especially when his tone seems so laced with implicit judgment. Fuck that. Judge me in my own room? I do the only thing I can think of to even the score and show him who's boss – that's how mad I am – and drop the towel. I cross in front of him naked as the day I was born and oh-so-grateful that I decided to shave today, reach my bed and pull on pink boy short undies with the word _Lucky_ scribbled across my ass and a matching pink bra, jean shorts and a pink T-shirt.

"I don't care what you do with the cash." I say angrily, especially when I see that he's not bothered by my little display at all. Instead of shock on his face, he is tapping a foot and has an eyebrow cocked as if he's barely amused by my tantrum.

Fuck, I'm beginning to hate this guy.

I feel a sudden bout of tears coming on – this is what I get for trying to do something nice for someone. Even if he's right and I did sort of con it out of his friends, they were too stupid or drunk to realize that a girl can be just as good at poker as they are. It's an important lesson for them to learn and learn early.

He reaches into a pocket and thrusts a wad of nicely folded bills at me. "I won't keep it. Here." I feel my anger building at him and I just want to stamp my feet. Nothing is going right for me, nothing. And who is this guy who won't even keep cash from a total stranger that he never has to see again? I'm so busy in my own head using tiny knives to carve him up that I almost miss what he's saying.

"…how did it end up in my pocket?"

It's my turn to cock an eyebrow at him. Ok, Mr. Smooth. Let's see how you deal with this. "I put it there." Yup. I can see his eyes widen a little bit. Evidently, Mr. Smooth doesn't like to have his personal space invaded. I file that piece of information away in case I need it later.

"You just reached into some strange, drunk guy's pocket?" He shakes his head and smirks at me. "You're crazy, you know that? I could be an ax murderer."

I'm done with him and with this conversation. _Strange_ isn't even the word for it. "Yeah, well, that's my cue to kick you out. Thanks for the returning the cash."

He sighs. "Wait. I think I have something else of yours. You must have shoved it in my pocket with the other." He motions to the cash that is now on the bed, reaches back into his pocket and holds something up so the light catches it.

Crap. I have to sit suddenly because I'm lightheaded. I've spent the past week looking for the thing he's holding: it's a keychain picture of a little dark-haired girl dressed up like a Disney Princess. Her eyes are bright as she looks at the camera, holding on tightly to a sixteen year old me. Our smiles could light the room - they could light up eternity - which is a good thing, since this is the last picture of us together before she died. I need to picture her lighting up eternity sometimes, or I'll go insane.

I don't say any of that, though. I hear myself breathlessly say, "Where did you find that?" I reach out for it with a shaking hand.

"I told you: in my pocket with the cash." His voice is gentle. Kind. Pitying. Normally that would piss me off so much that I would have to prove to him that I'm fine but right now I am too close to tears to care. I thought that picture was gone forever, like her. It dawns on me as I stare up at him that I owe him a huge debt.

Fuck.

A knock breaks up our quiet staring contest, punctuated by Finn saying loudly, "Mason, you had better be dressed. I don't even know how to put clothes _on_ a girl…Oh. Hi." He pushes the door open and is not even remotely shocked to find a strange guy in my room and a pile of cash on my bed. He walks over to me and checks me out. "I was sure you were gonna take me up on my offer to shower with you. You know that no woman on the planet can resist the Odair charm forever."

"Oh, please, Finn. I've heard all about your hardwood floors. Just because you want to host a TLC show called Extreme Manscaping doesn't mean I find it appealing." I scoff. I'm starting to feel better already just by holding the keychain. I can actually laugh and I'm suddenly starving. "Finn Odair, this is Brue." They boys hold out hands in that awkward way that boys do when they have nothing in common except getting caught in a girl's room.

"I'm Brue MacLeod." Brue's handshake showcases his sinewy arms. The man is all lean and long and it dawns on me that he's got to be either swimmer or a lacrosse player. Wait. Did he say MacLeod? Like fucking _Highlander_? Of course. I roll my eyes but don't say a word because I am just so relieved and happy and I owe this guy, even if he is probably going to kill us all by cutting off our heads.

Finn's looking at me like he expects at least some sort of input or snark. Perhaps he expects me to explain the guy's presence in my room. Perhaps he's even more curious why some strange guy is in my room and it's not Brian (who he has never met). Whatever it is, Finn finally says, "Are you ready to go grab ice cream? Brue, you're welcome to tag along…"

Which is, of course, penis talk for either "Let's have a three way" or "Scram. She's with me."

It's hard to tell with Finn which one he's going for.

Brue frowns again. I'm beginning to sense that a frown is his normal expression, when he says, "All of your friends are at the frat house. Peet's barbecuing. You should come by." Which sounds like penis talk for "I don't want you, but there's a bunch of people who told me I should drag you along."

I think back to the earlier mental picture of Katniss stuffing a hot dog – barbecued by Peeta – into her mouth. Suddenly, that image holds a tremendous allure and I find myself nodding to Brue. "Yeah. Let's go?" I sneak a glance at Finn because I'm only going if he says yes. If I spend too much alone time with frownie head over here and I might lose my sense of humor for good. And we can't have that, can we?

_(A/N: I imagine these chapters might be longer than what I would normally write. I'll probably keep up a posting cadence of once a week. All mistakes, as always, are mine alone. - I've also started a tumblr blog for this story's quirky references. If you like getting a bit of the behind the scenes stuff on a story, come check it out at johannaismyspiritguide dot tumblr dot com.)_


	3. The Gang

_I do not own The Hunger Games._

_(A/N: I have created a Tumblr blog for the references and bits of trivia about this story. It can be found at johannaismyspiritguide dot tumblr dot com.)_

**The Gang**

The sight that greets us after the walk to Lambda Chi is pretty telling: Katniss and Gale are laughing, Madge is helping Peeta flip burgers. Peeta keeps glancing Katniss's way and then his eyes skip away when she meets his gaze. It would be funny if it weren't so fucking pathetic.

Katniss waves and Madge smiles when she sees us. Madge looks like a goddess in a soft blue t-shirt that won't stay on her shoulder and showcases both her pale, pale skin and sky blue lingerie. Finn is over there like a heartbeat after the introductions to try to chat her up and it dawns on me as I watch them together that their children would be a whole different race of gorgeous. Like, so hot that people would have to wear sunglasses.

I snap out of it when Peeta asks if I want a dog or a burger. I tell him a cheeseburger loaded with whatever toppings he's got and then go sit next to Katniss. Perversely, because I am still mad at her and because I think Peeta deserves a break, I slide a chair in between her and Gale. Gale sends me a dark, brooding look like he's Michael Stipe or something but Katniss is oblivious to my tactics. I notice that she's actually eating her dinner, which is weird until I take a bite.

Holy. Fuck.

Vegetarians would eat this burger. The meat is juicy and cooked perfectly. It's smothered in onions that are sweet after being sweated until they are almost a paste which contrasts beautifully with the smoky beef flavor. There's some sort of spicy spread on the bun which ties it all together and the bun…the fucking bun is like a work of art. It's got tangy goat cheese or something baked into it and it's soft and the flavor of it all erupts in my mouth with a smoky, sweet, tangy explosion that is like an oral orgasm. Peeta is not a golden retriever. He's not brainless. He's a fucking Bun Bacchus who should be worshipped as a god.

No wonder Everdeen is actually eating. I wonder if Peeta knows that is pretty much akin to any other girl giving him head? He must, because he's watching her take bites with a blush that can't all be due to the heat from the grill.

An hour later I realize the downside of being around a guy who can cook like Peeta does: I'm so full that I can't move. He's pulled out a chocolate cake that's got to be like 5 layers high and has some sort of custard cream in the middle. It's so dark and rich that it's how I imagine anal sex is: really good and titillating as long as it's done slowly and in very small steps. Madge and I can't take more than a bite or two. Katniss shocks me by plowing through an entire piece by herself. Gale picks at his. Finn and Brue both put up a good effort. Peeta savors a piece with a small smile on his face, especially when he sees Katniss actually have to unbutton the top of her shorts because she's so full.

At one point I see Brue and Finn talking and then Finn grins. I hear him say, "I thought I saw you around the pool! You're really good!" Madge says something and all three of them laugh.

Ah. They must be bonding over some water sport – and that's not a euphemism. Did I mention that Finn, epitome of male perfection, is a lifeguard? He used to lifeguard during the summers at home and cashed in on his looks and charm to finagle a part time job at the pool. He says he doesn't need the money but that it's a great place to meet girls.

It's not the thought of Finn's perfectly waxed and bronze chest that makes me get snarky. Rather surprisingly it's the thought of Brue's. I wonder idly if he's as into his manscaping as Finn is. "Oh, are you boys going to compare some weird chlorine burns or something?"

Finn looks down the picnic table at me. "Well, Mason, at least I'm not getting fat."

"Did you just call me fat? I bet you have a roll that hangs over your speedo tomorrow."

"Oh, I have a bulge in my speedo, alright…"

The table laughs. Brue smirks and then excuses himself after thanking Peeta. I wonder if it was something I said, but quickly forget it when we all help Peeta clean up and break into beer pong teams. I love beer pong.

Did I mention I'm competitive?

Peeta and I end up in third place behind the other two couples. Gale and Katniss freaking dominate the game and I have trouble even looking at Madge and Finn who take the strategy of striking these impossible poses to get a laugh out of everyone. I'm glad Madge is playing along and not so untouchable, but I'm also frustrated because we're not _winning_. Peeta apologizes, but I know it's not his fault. The guy can't be great at everything, right? Plus, he's got to be exhausted after making that meal, so I punch him on the shoulder and tell him it's ok. He grins and we move on to darts, where we don't play in teams.

Everdeen wipes the floor with all of us including Brue, who has rejoined us, and Gale. At least watching Gale pout puts me in a better mood, but I'm restless and I want something more. I text Brian and we make plans to hook up.

I must have a certain look on my face because Finn comments on it. "That must be Brian. Johanna only gets that particular look when there's a booty call underway."

"Who's Brian?" Gale asks. I forgot that poor Gale has no idea that he was a stand in last weekend.

Katniss laughs. "That's Jo's boyfriend." At Gale's slightly queasy look, she explains, "They have sort of a break up and make up thing going on." He looks relieved and I wonder if she suspects why he might be interested.

_No, Gale, he's not going to come here and kick your ass._

She continues on, "He's Navy ROTC."

Brue scoffs, "Ah. Another wanna be jet-jockey?"

"No. Actually he wants to go for subs." I don't know why I feel the need to defend him.

Brue doesn't let it go. "Isn't that like being in close quarters with a bunch of guys for months at a time?" Finn high-fives him in an annoying show of overly hetero camaraderie.

I glare. "Oh? Because that's so different from a frat house?" I lock eyes with Brue's blue ones and I wonder if he can see the middle finger I'm throwing him with my mind. He must because he scowls in my direction.

I belatedly realize I've just insulted half of the table. _Fuck, Mason. Don't be a douche._ "I mean, he's just like you guys."

Katniss gives me a pointed look. "Then how come he doesn't hang out with us?"

She's not wrong. Everdeen's only seen Brian at all because we live in the same dorm. He and I don't hang out. We don't really even date. We just text each other and meet up places on campus, then make it back to his room because his roommate is usually out all night partying. All of that should probably make me feel bad or nervous or like a tramp or something, but it doesn't: I love the relationship that he and I have because there is zero relationship bullshit. Well, except for the break-ups. Those are as real as a heart attack.

I don't have an answer for her, so I just shrug. "Maybe we're so much in love that I don't want to share him." I'm proud that I can say it with a straight face, especially when Finn laughs so hard that beer comes out of his nose.

"Love, Mason? You? Come on, now." He laughs.

I shoot him another "Fuck you, Finn" and get up to head back to the dorm. I ask Peeta if I can talk to him for a second.

When I pull him aside, I say quietly,"Dude, kudos for getting into Everdeen's pants. I bet that's a first." He looks at me quizzically. "You know she doesn't just pop a button for anyone, right?" Peeta blushes and rubs the back of his neck. Part of me wants to hug him and part of me wants to wallop him. _Get some game, man! _I get down to the question I need to ask him. "You've got her tonight, right? You'll make sure she gets back to the dorm safely?" I'm dead serious about this and I know he picks up on it when I meet his eyes.

"Yeah, I can do that. But she might just hang out with Hawthorne all night." He sighs.

_What are you, fucking Eeyore? _I shake my head vehemently. "I don't care who she hangs out with. Promise me that you'll be her wingman?" I don't let on that I don't trust Gale to look out for her the same way I trust Peeta: Gale looks like he would happily trade his autographed Lita Ford poster for a chance at Everdeen's V-card.

He sighs heavily again, obviously knowing what I'm after. "Yeah. Yeah, I'll keep an eye out and make sure she gets home."

I'm not sure, but I think I hear him mumble _I am such an idiot_ as I depart for a night of debauchery.

-o-

The guys have bonded over a business class they have in common so, true to most guy friendships, they have downloaded all necessary information and shared it amongst the collective. Obviously, Finn should have remained the odd man out, especially once the cheerleading thing came out and offended their delicate hetero sensibilities. Once Gale and company discovered, though, that he could be an asset with the ladies, his honorary membership into their clique was complete.

We're at the frat house blowing off a little steam by playing a friendly game of basketball. And by friendly game, I mean that we're playing balls-out…because…say it with me…

I'm competitive. Yeah. Glad you're catching on.

The guys are shirtless - except for Peeta -and the October Los Angeles sun reflects off their sweat-drenched torsos. It's blinding in the same way the volleyball scene from _Top Gun_ is: who wants to look away when there's that much good-looking flesh exposed? All we need are some mirrored sunglasses and dog tags and the scene would be perfect.

They have decided that we should play girls vs. boys. Katniss and I have Finn on our team because he is still taking heat over being a cheerleader. It's fine by me, though: he's just as competitive as I am and, evidently, so is Everdeen. Which is great because Gale is crazy-smart by having Peeta block her, anticipating that she won't know what to do with that. I would be laughing my head off at the two of them because Peeta can't take his eyes off of Katniss's little tank-top if I didn't want to kick some ass so badly. It's freaking adorable. I think Gale may have underestimated Everdeen, though, because she's body checking Peeta as much as she's doing the same to Gale and Brue. If not more-so. Every time her sweaty body collides with his, I can see Peeta's control slip just a teeny bit from the shock of it.

Poor guy's gonna have to jerk off after this, I'm sure. Or take the coldest shower on the planet.

I'm not much better off. Brue's shirtless chest is sweaty and tan, his muscles shifting in a way that would be mesmerizing if I let it. Between his long limbed grace, Gale's height and Peeta's solid wall of muscle, we're unable to put up a decent score and I'm mad that he's even able to have that effect on me. _Bastard_. So what if he's got butterscotch discs for nipples and I just want to nibble….

_Easy, Jo. Easy. Focus on the ball. _

They can't wipe the court with us, they just can't. Especially because we're attracting attention, what with Finn also being shirtless. Coeds of both varieties are scattered around the front yard of the frat house, watching us sweat while they drink beer. There is no fucking way I am going to let this trio of buffoons ruin our street cred because of this game. We need a glorious showboat of a play to put us on the map because, if there's one thing that cheerleading has taught me, it's that people remember swagger.

Finn catches my eye. He must see the stubborn set of my jaw or the flash of my eyes or maybe we're psychically fucking connected, because he nods once. I wipe my sweaty forehead and I notice Peeta do the same, using his shirt and showing a scar just visible on his lower back. It's large and round and holds my attention for a second until the ball bounces back into play and Katniss is all over him. She's doing a totally illegal hold: her hands are actually inside the waistband of his shorts and he's frozen in place with wide eyes.

Finn's anticipates the pass to Peeta and intercepts the ball to takes off down the court. I give chase. I'm faster than Gale, even though he has a longer gait, so I make it down court before anyone but Finn. As I approach I hear him yell, "Tight and light." I nod once and barrel toward him at full force. He bounces the ball extra high and at the same time weaves his fingers into a rudimentary basket for my foot. I find purchase and am flung toward the basket, grabbing the bouncing ball as I soar upward. I dunk it and hang off the rim for a second or two before dropping to the court.

And the crowd goes fucking wild.

I turn to Finn, grin and yell, "I feel the need…"

Finn finishes the thought by adding, "…the need for speed." and we high and low-five. Katniss laughes and joins in.

Everyone's clapping and laughing. Well, everyone except for Brue, Gale, and Peeta. I suppose Peeta could still be smiling from the feel of Everdeen's hands in his pants. I snort a little at Katniss's boldness and the heady feeling of the giant Fuck You I have dealt out. My smile is so wide I'm sure I look like Mary Lou Retton.

"What was that?" Gale yells, emphatically gesturing to the basket.

Finn laughs heartily, arm slung over my shoulder. I swear I can hear a few coeds moan as he flexes his naked pecs. "That's a variation on a basket toss. We've been doing that stunt since cheerleading camp freshman year of high school."

Gale yanks his t-shirt back on. "That's illegal. And nice rim-job Mason."

I stick my tongue out at him. "It's one of my specialties."

"I bet." He crosses his arms in front of his chest.

We glare at each other but I can't help but burst into another huge smile which just makes his scowl worse.

Brue finally punches Gale in the arm, "Dude, they still lost. Don't be a sore winner." He shrugs his shoulders, calling attention to his rippling back. I feel my face go slack.

I turn away to find Katniss pulling on a t-shirt and Finn chatting up the local color. As in he's practically wearing one of the girls like a sweater. I swear that she would lick the sweat off his chest if he asked.

"Mason!" He yells. "Kristin here doesn't believe that I was a cheerleader." He holds a hand over his heart like he's wounded. I know, though, that it's simply to call attention to his perfect smooth chest. The lovely Kristin doesn't stand a chance. "Feel like a little Toss Hand Full with a So Cal Spell Out?"

I roll my eyes. What Finn wants to do is show off: he wants me to stand in front of him and then he'll bounce me up to his hands at shoulder height. Then he'll extend his arms all the way up so they are fully extended. We'll do a cheer and then I'll bounce down and he'll look like a freaking giant among men. But then I look over my shoulder at Brue, who is watching us with a knowing grin. Like he's doing me a favor by keeping Gale off my back by not making a bigger deal about our lack of sportsmanship.

_Fuck you, Brue._ And that rhymes. Even better.

I nod and walk over to Finn. He grabs my waist and the old habits just snap into place. We bounce once (light), again (tight) and then the third bounce has me flying. He catches the soles of my feet on his flat palms perfectly at chest height. I'm locked tight so that there's no movement or balance issues for him to deal with. And here's where it gets cool: we effortlessly bounce once more and he extends his arms. I'm like a million feet tall. I can touch the freaking sun. My smile is huge and I can't help but yell, "S. O. U. T. HERN C. A. L. I. FORNIA Southern California!"

What's even more awesome is that every coed in the yard yells it with me, until I feel the sound echoing in my breast bone. I triumphantly raise my victory fingers in the air for a two count, then dismount with Finn holding my waist to slow my downward velocity.

Kristin looks at Finn like he's a god when he smiles at her; she doesn't stand a chance.

I glance over at Brue but he's gone.

-o-

We're walking back from the frat house still sweaty and gross when I realize I have to detour to the Health Center or my R.A. Effie will kill me: it's time for the monthly condom run. Once Effie realized that walking around on campus with a box of a thousand condoms didn't freak me out, she's sent me to retrieve them for her. And today is as good a day as any. I just hope that Katniss doesn't mind a little round-about route back to the dorm.

"What was up with you and Peeta back there?" I can't help but ask. She had been pretty fierce on the court, but there was a different kind of handsy that came into play while she was guarding Peeta. "I saw your hands on his waistband and thought the poor guy was going to blow his wad right there."

Katniss wrinkles her nose. "Jo, that's gross. Nothing. There's nothing going on." She shrugs and goes quiet and begins fiddling with her hair.

_Ah, the Everdeen tell._

"Mmmhhmmm. What about you and Gale?" I glance at her. I know this is dangerous territory because she could call me on having slept with him a couple of weeks ago.

She flicks her braid back over her shoulder. "What about us? He's my best friend."

"Word on the street is that you're in love with him." I wince. I'm sure I could be more tactful if I tried. I put that on my list of things to work on someday. For now, I figure that Everdeen is only going to get the question if I'm as subtle as a sledgehammer.

She sighs. "Do I need to answer this?"

"If you don't, I'm making you carry a box of a thousand condoms." I'm completely serious.

"Jo, you suck. Ok. I…I used to think I felt something for him. We were always together, you know? Everyone just assumed that we would hook up." She's chewing her lip thoughtfully.

I prompt her as I try to understand. "But you didn't? You were in school with him and had opportunities, right?" I don't even understand it: she had motive and opportunity. Why not seal the deal?

She nods, slowly. "We didn't. I don't know. I guess I didn't want him as much as everyone thought I _should_ want him. And now that we're here… there's a lot more going on here than there was in my home town."

"…Like Peeta?" I face her while the front desk goes to retrieve my box of safety equipment.

Katniss blushes and smoothes a hair back into place. "He lifted his shirt up today. He… he never did that at home. And we had gym together all four years."

"Never? What about when you guys went swimming? Was his manly chest what made you reach into his pants?" I sign for the box and we make our way home. I get a few choice looks on the way. Like I'm carrying my own party-in-a-box.

She whacks me hard on the shoulder. "I did not reach into his pants." She thinks for a minute. "I don't think Peeta swims. At least, he never came to the lake with us during the summer. I just… he's not what I expected."

"What did you expect?" I'm really curious. Figuring out what makes Katniss Everdeen tick is like one of my calculus problems: maddening but fascinating. I can see why she's a psych major if this is the sort of information she wants to know.

"I don't know. He's…nice. And he's very careful and polite." She says it like it's a question.

"Solicitous, you mean? Yeah, he is. Particularly of you." Even clueless Everdeen over here has picked up on it? _Hallelujah_. "Are you interested?"

We're back at our dorm and I need to take the box to Effie. But I want Katniss to answer this last question. I've been pushing the two of them together pretty hard and I want to know if I'm making her uncomfortable. It's not fun if it really pisses her off. God forbid she replace my KY with Icy Hot or something…

She looks at me blankly and I can tell she's way out of her league. Like she doesn't even have language for what she's thinking.

I tap my toe impatiently. "Look, you don't have to get married or jump in the sack with him tomorrow. I just want to know if my teasing is going to make you kill me in my sleep."

Katniss frowns as if she is going to say something serious. Almost immediately, her frown clears and she laughs. "Johanna Mason, are you asking me for permission to josh with me? Because you care?"

"Fuck you, Everdeen."

"Aw, Jo. That's sweet."

"Seriously. Fuck. You."

I stride away from our room towards Effie's while Katniss is still laughing but I hear her yell, "Hey, Jo…I'll allow it."

I grin. _Let the games begin!_


	4. Breaking the Ice

_I do not own The Hunger Games._

**Breaking the Ice**

The gang is hanging out in our dorm room after dinner one night when Madge gets the bright idea to go on a fountain run. For those of you who have never partaken, this is where you go wading/swimming in the fountains on campus (or any other public place) without getting caught. Usually at night. Usually without swimwear.

I grimace the minute she brings it up and opt out, explaining that I don't swim. I see Finn frown at me like he wants to say something or contradict, so I turn to rifle through my drawers and pull out a couple of extra towels to donate to the group effort.

"I can't swim either, Jo. You should come anyway." Peeta takes the towels from me with a smile, confirming what Everdeen said on our walk.

_He can't fucking swim? Who grows up not knowing how to swim?_ I have to stop and recall that Peeta, Gale, Katniss and Madge grew up somewhere back east, without the easy access to the ocean that Finn and I and Brue have had growing up in Southern California. Hell, Finn and I both have pools.

I shake my head. I don't want them to know that I can swim perfectly well. I just…I choose not to.

The group leaves with whoops and hollers and I regret my choice for a moment. Finally, I grab my backpack and make my way upstairs to Brian's room to "study". I'm sure I'll get some lessons in physics, at least…

Two hours later and I hope vehemently that no one is in my room. _Fucking Brian. _Why do I let him talk me into these things? It seemed like a good idea at the time: a little chocolate sauce, some naked skin, a trash bag so that it didn't get all over his room….But when he poured it all over me instead of using discretion, some things became readily apparent. One, no amount of gentle licking or sucking can fight the sticky viscosity of Hershey's syrup in large quantities. Two, deciding to power through it and continuing to be frisky results in two people stuck together more painfully that when wearing short-shorts and sitting on a faux leather car interior on a hot day. Three, Hershey's syrup acts like Gorilla Glue and fuses a trash bag to bare skin. Four, removing said trash bag results in discomfort akin to a bikini wax.

_Fucking Brian._

So I am walking down the stairs to get to my dorm room wearing hastily donned clothing and hoping that Tide will remove the Hershey's syrup reside sticking to my favorite shorts and t-shirt and that Everdeen isn't sitting at her desk doing homework. She'll never let me hear the end of it if she's home.

I know I'm in trouble when I get to the door and it's slightly ajar. I can hear voices and I have no choice but to push forward: I can't exactly shower on Brian's all-boys floor, can I? I'm fucked.

The door creaks open louder than the one in the Thriller video and I swear every single eye swings my way when I walk in the room. The conversation stops. Finn takes one look at me, hops off the bed and saunters over. He runs a finger under my jawline and raises it to his lips.

"Chocolate, Jo?" He licks his finger and cocks an eyebrow. "Did Brian want a little dessert? I can see why you didn't want to come with us. Who wouldn't trade hanging out for some good, _clean_ fun?"

I want to fucking deck him. I can't believe I'm standing in front of people holding my underwear and basically shrink wrapped into the rest of my clothing with an ice cream topping acting as a fusing agent. I throw him the dirtiest look I can muster and walk over to pull my bathrobe and shower stuff out of my closet. I have to be careful not to let my robe brush up against any part of my body or it too will be contaminated.

Katniss is looking at me with the widest eyes I think I've ever seen. "What, brainless?" I spit at her.

She blinks. "N…nothing." I can hear the tremble in her voice. She wants to fucking laugh. I glare at her.

Peeta is staring at the ceiling. Gale's shoulders are already shaking. Madge has a hand covering her mouth. And Brue….Brue is smirking that fucked up smirk. Like he knows more than the rest of us or has done more than the rest of us. It makes me want to stomp on his foot when I walk past him and stride to the showers.

I'm vigorously soaping myself for the third time using water so hot I might blister when I hear a voice from beyond the shower curtain: it's Madge.

"Jo? We weren't laughing at you." When I don't answer, she continues, "We missed you during the fountain hop. It's not as much fun if you're not there." More quietly, she adds, "Katniss and I don't know what to do with the guys like you do. You make everything easier. It's so easy for the guys to be friends with you."

I shut off the water and dry myself. _What the hell? Friends with a guy? With guys? _I'm not sure I even know what to do with a guy if I'm not trying to get into his pants. And Finn doesn't count.

She keeps talking, "I'm serious, you know. You know how to talk to guys – it's obvious that you're a guy's gal. Finn, Gale, and Peeta can all talk and joke around with you. How do you do that?"

_I think like I have a dick. _I slide into my bathrobe in silence and dry my hair, making sure that I got all of the chocolate out of it.

I hear her sigh. "Plus, Brian is literally eating you up. What's it like to have a guy who is so into you? You have Brian and Katniss has Peeta. Gale barely looks at me, let alone treats me like we're in 9 ½ Weeks."

_Hm. I hadn't thought of it that way._ I push open the shower curtain to find Madge playing with her hair and sitting on a bench at the end of the row of showers.

"What the fuck's the deal with Peeta and Gale and you and Katniss, anyway?" I can't help but ask. It has nothing to do with the stench of chocolate I swear I can still feel blocking my pores, but it's a question worth asking.

Madge shrugs sheepishly. "Gale wanted Katniss. I wanted Gale. Peeta wanted Katniss."

"Is this fucking _Twilight_?" I ask and Madge laughs.

"Jo, how big was your high school? If you don't mind my asking?"

"I don't know… five hundred kids in my class. Maybe two thousand in the whole school?"

She shakes her head. "We have six thousand people _in our whole town._ Think about that: everyone knows everyone. Heck, most of us are related! I'm sure in your high school, you had loads of gorgeous guys but, for me, the pickings were relatively small. The fact that all four of us got out together is remarkable. I would never talk tales about her, but the fact that Katniss got out at all is a miracle."

"I still don't get it. Katniss said that she had plenty of opportunity to jump Gale and it just never happened. And I don't get why Peeta never asked her out. Or you…look at you? You're gorgeous. It never dawned on your to use your feminine wiles on Gale?"

Madge gestures to the pile of clothing that smells like Nestle threw up. "We're not all adventurous like you are, Jo. Plus, in our tiny town, the lines between who you date and who you don't are pretty structured. I was the Mayor's daughter and Gale was from the wrong side of town. Katniss was the same way for Peeta. Coming to USC has been a big adjustment for all of us."

I look at her in her lavender t-shirt, face all soft focus in the mist from the showers. The girl never looks bad. Never. There's never a hair out of place. She's like a wet dream for most guys and Gale never went for her…. then it dawns on me: they're not home anymore. Just like Katniss, she doesn't necessarily have the vocabulary to ask for what she wants. But her big, pansy colored eyes tell me that she wants to learn.

_Holy shit. Gale and Peeta are never going to know what hit them._

We head back to a quiet dorm room to find Katniss reading a book on her bed. The guys are gone. I dump my clothes next to my hamper so they don't pollute the other laundry and Katniss sits up.

"You know we weren't laughing…"

"Yeah. Madge already said that."

Katniss has a smile tugging on the corners of her mouth. "Finn left you something." She motions to my bed where I spy a quart of milk and a note that says _have fun with the leftovers. _The whole thing is too ridiculous and I start to giggle. _Fucking Finn._

Katniss and Madge laugh with me. Madge adds in mid-giggle, "Wasn't that s-sweet of him?"

We chuckle. Katniss adds, "Does Brian call you honey?" and a fresh round of laughter takes us.

Madge adds, "No! No! I bet he calls her sweet..sweetheart."

We're laughing so hard I have tears coming out of my eyes when my cell phone vibrates in the pocket of my chocolate lined shorts. I gingerly fish it out and a fresh bout of laughter overtakes me. I take deep breaths so I can stop laughing enough to speak. "It's Bri…Brian. He wants me to get my candy…candy-ass back upstairs."

Katniss is literally rolling around on the bed holding her sides. Madge isn't doing any better, hunched over as she tries to suck air into her lungs. And me? It feels good to laugh with other girls. I haven't done it in such a long time that I hadn't realized I missed it.

"Let's tell the guys that we had a pillow fight." Madge says after she gains her breath.

Katniss chuckles and wipes her face. "Oh, I bet Gale would love that."

"Or Finn. He would be so upset that he missed it." I put the milk in our micro-fridge, shuddering when I see my own bottle of Hershey's syrup. I won't be trying food play again anytime soon.

Madge recovers enough to ask seriously, "Are we ok? The three of us? I don't have a lot of girl friends and I can't afford to lose the best ones I've got." When I nod she says, "Pinkie Swear?"

_Are you fucking kidding me? _ I hold my pinkie out anyway, as does Katniss. I look up from our linked fingers to find we're all grinning at each other like idiots: it's the best moment I've had since coming to school. _Friends._

-o—

Dinners at the frat house have become a thing for our little gang and we've settled into a routine of heading over there early and helping Peeta cook. We're heading to the frat house for our normal Tuesday night dinner when I tell the group we need to make a pit-stop at the grocery store across from campus.

Katniss groans. "Please don't make me miss out on Shepard's Pie. And I think he said éclairs for dessert."

…_Another fucking menu!_ I picture Katniss stuffing five inches of cream filled goodness into her mouth and snort. I swear that Peeta is getting more provocative in his food choices on purpose. "Like Peeta wouldn't save you some. Seriously." I can't fault her for it, though. My mouth is already watering from the beef gravy-laden, potato crusted goodness that I am sure awaits us. Since starting these dinners, I've had to pare down on the amount that I allow myself to eat or risk not being able to move for the entire night. They are alarmingly tasty, but like an anti-aphrodisiac. I wonder if that's why Peeta's never made a move on Katniss: maybe he just eats way too well.

Madge even chimes in with, "Yeah, Katniss. Now that the guy knows that you like to eat, I bet he thinks it's his personal mission to make all of your favorites."

Katniss glares at us both as we approach the doorway to the Thirty Second Street Market. Her glare melts into a frown as we pass a woman and a small child at the entrance. The woman holds a small sign asking for spare change. By the time we are inside the store, standing between the panaderia and the liquor section, Everdeen has stopped completely and is chewing her lip.

"What? Spill it." I'm cranky. I need to get a couple of tubs of chocolate frosting, some pudding cups and a large bag of salt and vinegar potato chips, STAT.

Katniss shakes her head slowly, her braid swishing across her black t-shirt. "That little girl…she just reminded me of my sister."

Madge nods. "I can see the resemblance. Wasn't Prim about that age when your Dad died?"

"What?" I'm looking from one to the other of them like they are insane. Can't they see that I want to get my junk food so that I can pre-pay the uterine gods and keep them appeased? The only things better than chocolate and salt-and-vinegar chips for my PMS are multiple orgasms that last three days. And I plan on working on those later tonight.

Madge is the one who puts into words why Katniss looks queasy and is playing with the end of her braid nervously. "Katniss's Dad died when she was little and left her and her sister to fend for themselves."

_Fuck._ All I can picture is a scene from _Annie. _"What about your Mom?" I ask Katniss. I can't believe she's never said anything. And all those times I ragged on Prim or berated Katniss for studying so hard…what was it Madge had said? _Katniss was lucky to make it out of our home town at all?_

I've never heard this tone of voice from Katniss, "She checked out. Prim and I…we made it work."

My PMS is utterly forgotten. I grip the keychain in my pocket tightly when I think about Katniss taking care of her younger sister. "…And now?"

"She's better; she's on medication for it. Prim's ok." The fierceness of her voice makes an answering tremor rocket through me. It tells me that she would move heaven and earth for her sister, no matter what the circumstances. She would never, ever let anything happen to Prim.

_I used to feel that same way._ I feel tears gather behind my eyelids.

_Fucking PMS._

Madge gently asks Katniss a question that I only half hear. "…want to go and give them some money?"

"No," I exclaim, louder than I intend, "She could be a junkie or an alcoholic. No." There are homeless people around school all the time holding signs. I don't want to encourage anything where Katniss is giving money to someone who might just turn around and channel it the wrong way. She works too hard and I know her family still needs every penny.

Madge and Katniss both turn to look at me. I see Madge's eyes hold pity, like she can't believe I have zero faith in humanity. Katniss's just look sad. Like she can't stop thinking of the little kid outside: of her home life or what her next meal is going to be.

_Wait._

"You're worried about the kid, right?" I wait while Katniss nods. I stride over to the carts and pull one out, nodding, "Ok. I have an idea." I explain what I'm thinking: we quickly come up with a game-plan and pool our cash. Madge and Katniss agree that I should be the one to approach the woman, although I gape at them like they are insane. _Yeah, right. Because I'm the one with the soft touch. Not._ Madge says it's because I'm street smart and it will put the woman at ease to have someone explain things to her in an upfront manner. I snort, but do as I'm told.

Ten minutes later, our weird little group is pushing a cart through the market. The woman cautiously asks for every single thing she wants before she puts it in the cart as if we are the weirdest guardian angels imaginable. The woman explains that her daughter (her name is Jasmine) eats lunch and breakfast at school. They only have a small refrigerator where they stay, so she has to be mindful of perishables. She has a job but has to make every penny stretch to cover rent, transportation, and after school care costs even with state aid. She sounds like she is apologizing to us for needing the help.

Part of me wants to tell her that we shouldn't be helping her and she should be able to take care of herself. But every time I look at Katniss and Jasmine, I think of my own sister and Katniss's words from earlier: this little girl deserves to eat.

Katniss plays with Jasmine – games like I-Spy and matching games. I notice the woman's hands trembling when she picks up certain things: bread. A half-gallon of milk. I wonder how long it's been since she's had all of these groceries at once. By the time she reaches for a whole chicken, pausing and asking if it's ok for what feels like the hundredth time, I want to scream. I know that Katniss is doing a good thing so I hold it in and trudge behind the cart silently.

Madge must know that I'm frustrated with how long this is all taking because she starts suggesting items like canned vegetables, mac and cheese, canned tuna fish. We ask about toiletries such as laundry soap or shampoo. Toothpaste. Deodorant. We add my paltry items to the cart when we get to that aisle, keeping them in the seat part so they get bagged separately. The little girl looks amazed at the amount of food in the cart. I belatedly hope that her Mother can carry all of it to wherever they are going.

When we're all paid up and the groceries are bagged, the woman watches as Jasmine hugs us all and then reaches for each of our hands. I let her hold mine, aware of the racing of my pulse: I don't want to be here. She looks at each of us and squeezes our fingers, telling us that God will bless each of us.

_No, he won't. Not me. _I turn away.

Katniss and Madge wave goodbye to the little family and then we go quietly on our way.

-o-

Finnick is laughing at us. "You three are fucking Flora, Fauna and Merryweather!"

I'm starting to feel back to normal after our bizarre interlude at the grocery store, so I laugh along with him. I'm pretty sure it's the only time in my life I'll be compared to a Disney fairy godmother. Brue smiles, as do the girls. Only Gale is frowning.

We're standing in the kitchen of the frat house. Brue is wearing an apron and explains that Peeta will be a little late because he had an appointment. It's a good look for him. _Like anything is a bad look for him? _ I sigh and he shoots me a questioning look while the conversation continues around us.

"Why did you have to stop at the market?" Finn takes a look in the bag. "Ohhhhh…." he holds up a tub of frosting, "riding the crimson tide soon, Jo?"

Brue actually joins the conversation, which makes me want to shoot a rubber band right at Finn's eye. "I don't get it. What's with the frosting? Somebody making a cake?"

Finn snorts. "No. See, Johanna has this thing where she eats a whole tub of frosting and a bag of chips while she PMSs. She also endangers the life of any guy she's dating: from what I hear she's like a succubus. Poor guys have to recover for weeks."

"Oh, I'm going to suck the life out of him, alright. You're just afraid you couldn't keep up." I quip. I'm not even mortified he's sharing this with the room because it's all pretty much true.

"Not even I would take you up on that challenge this week." He gives a fake shudder and I laugh.

Gale doesn't laugh. In fact, he still looks lost in thought. "Let's get back to this crazy stunt at the market. You have no idea who that woman was, Catnip. She should be strong enough to do it on her own. The way we did." Gale comes down on her severely.

"There's nothing wrong with someone asking for help." Madge says levelly.

"Said like someone who's never had to ask for it." He hurls at her. It's unnecessarily harsh.

No matter how I felt about the event at the time, I still defend Katniss and Madge. I open my mouth but Katniss beats me to it. "There was a little girl who needed to it."

Gale snorts "It's probably not even her little girl."

Madge crosses her arms in front of her chest. "Like someone's going to sell cans of tuna or a half gallon of milk for crack or something? Gale, you have no faith in humanity."

"That's easy for you to say, sheltered little princess that you are." Gale's eyes flash.

I see the hurt that ghosts across Madge's face and I can begin to recognize some of the fucked up reasons that they haven't ended up together. It makes me want to carve him up with a knife. A plastic one. _Who the fuck does he think he is to judge?_ Madge walks out of the back door and I follow her. It's not that I want to help her or anything, I just want to keep myself from slamming the palm of my hand upwards into Gale's nose. Katniss must think the same thing because she follows us out after pinning him with a glare.

"He's a prick." I say when I get to the backyard and find Madge leaning against the house.

"He's a dickhead." Katniss says.

"Fucking asshole." I say. "You're not a princess. You're at least a queen."

The three of us laugh and it completely relieves the tension.

"He's an idiot." Madge says. This makes me laugh even harder because it's probably the worst thing Madge can come up with. I put an arm around her shoulders and squeeze. Maybe it's my PMS talking, but I want only good things to happen to these girls. They deserve it. And anyone who even thinks otherwise should get fucked up the ass with a cactus.

Ok, maybe it is my PMS.

A guy walking a motorcycle up the driveway catches the attention of all three of us. He's clad in black leathers and a black helmet. His bike is a crotch rocket designed to get him killed in Los Angeles traffic. He's fucking _hot_. Now, I realize that I say that about a lot of guys, and it's true that my PMS does make it so that just straddling his motorcycle would get me off. I swear, though, that as the guy dismounts the bike and the pants he's wearing cup his ass, it gets about ten degrees hotter. I have a mental flash of a faceless rider taking me from behind while I'm astride it. Even Madge is quietly appreciating the scenery.

So when he takes off his helmet and flings his wavy blonde hair, I recoil like I've been slapped. _It's fucking Peeta._ I can't help leaning over and grabbing Katniss's arm. "Will you _please_ fucking hit that? Just so the rest of us know that it's been done and done well? That guy is a like a walking porno."

He looks over at us, waves, and flashes those dimples. _Fuck._ Katniss doesn't answer because she's slack jawed just staring at him as he locks up the bike.

I wonder when she's going to act on the fact that she comes to the frat house for more than just the food.

"Hi, guys. Sorry I'm running late. I'm just gonna run upstairs and grab a quick shower, then we can eat." He rubs the back of his neck under his leather jacket and heads inside. I watch Katniss follow him with hungry eyes.

I stare at my nails and say lazily, "You know, you could just go upstairs and help him wash his back."

Madge laughs, "Guys on bikes are hot enough that there might be a line." Katniss hits me on the arm but the look on her face is thoughtful.

_(A/N: There are people for whom gap coverage is a real problem. For more information about making a difference with your own small change, check out www dot modestneeds dot org. It's a great organization.)_


	5. Meeting Halfway

_I do not own The Hunger Games._

_(A/N: Happy Mother's Day!)_

**Meeting Halfway**

We've entered a deadly week in my dorm: I'll call it _Resident Evil_: Uterus. It's the week were my own organ tries to burst forth from my body a la an _Aliens_ face sucker, killing me in the process and infecting anyone it happens latches onto. I've escalated from eating icing straight-from-the-tub, to icing with sprinkles and chocolate sauce mixed with Pepperidge Farm Goldfish pretzels in an effort to appease my hormones. What I want, what I really want more than I can say, is sex. Hot, steamy, can't-walk for a week whimpering sex. And I'm not talking about sex where pleasure comes in gentle waves. I'm talking about bruises on my hips and wrists, bite marks, the works.

There's only one problem: Brian doesn't like crime scene sex. Not even anal is interesting to him. Frankly, the thought of it scares me a little, but this is one of those weeks where I would totally go for it if he so much as expressed an interest.

What makes it truly hellish though is that, while my own uterus is throbbing to a heavy beat like Tupac's _California Love_, the rest of my floor is PMSing. That means Everdeen and Undersee and fifty other girls are just hitting the raging hormones that require intravenous chocolate and a continuous stream of movies like _Dear John_. I allow myself one day a month to wallow in my cramps, etc. because I can't handle the walking dead that is my dorm during this week for any longer than that.

Madge, Katniss and I are hanging out in our room watching _Beastly_ for like the fifty thousandth time today. We're all still in our pajamas, even though it's after noon. Katniss is hugging her pillow, sniffling into a Kleenex. I'm not sure if it's because she believes Vanessa Hudgins can't act or if she just loves the scene we're watching where he's following her around like some crazy super-tatted stalker. Whatever. Madge looks like she stepped out of a freaking Always pad commercial: her lilac colored linen pajamas are barely creased, her hair is perfect, and her skin glows like fucking birds or deer were outside her window ready to give her a facial at the crack of dawn.

Seriously. I think she was sent to be my friend just to teach me some humility.

Anyway, evidently Madge loves her some tatt-ed dark and brooding guys. Which, come to think of it, explains a lot about her attraction to Gale. She's watching the screen like she could tear Alex Pettyfer right from it. All three of us are silent, except for the sniffling and my uterus is making "Feed me Seymour" noises like from _Little Shop of Horrors._ Maybe I'm just imagining that last part.

There's a knock on the slightly ajar door and then something comes sailing into the room. It's a good thing that Katniss has really strong reflexes, because the flying bag of Ghirardelli chocolate chips would have clipped her on the head otherwise. And who really needs a chocolate concussion?

"What the fuck, Finn. You almost took off Katniss's head." I pause the movie as the door swings open: Peeta is holding a couple of grocery bags and practically waving a white flag while Finn is moving towards us in an army crawl._ Is that a bag of M&M's and a bunch of Fun Dip packing-taped to his chest? _

"Peeta is your Red Shirt on this expedition?" I throw a pillow a Finn's head.

"Ooh, a pillow fight?" Finn, looking hopeful, sits up and throws the pillow back at me. "I had to bring a crew member who could be sacrificed to the hormonal masses."

"God, you're an ass." I start tapping my foot after I catch the pillow and clutch it to my mid-section.

"Oh, that's right. It's a red letter week for you, right Mason?" I narrow my eyes at him but he laughs. "Get up. All three of you. Peeta's going to make us some cookies. You guys have a kitchen downstairs, right?" Finn's right; my dorm does have a public kitchen where we can make meals. No one ever uses it.

My uterus forces me to ask, "What kind?"

Finn just shakes his head, "Did my time on a cheerleading squad with a bunch of women teach me nothing? Chocolate chip, of course." We're up and I'm throwing on flip flops or slippers or whatever is handy before he finishes the word "chip".

-o—

We are hanging out and waiting for a couple of cookie sheets to come out of the oven. Peeta's got a nice little system going on: Madge and Katniss and I mix while he supervises and measures. Finn plops the cookies on the sheets and Peeta times the baking. The whole thing is moving along swimmingly well and we're eating cookies as soon as they are cool enough to handle. Even my uterus has been long satisfied with the cookies and milk that we've been guzzling for the past two hours. Finn's been hitting on Madge, which is hilarious to watch, and telling stories about outrageous things we did at camp together. Peeta's sneaking glances at Katniss and the way her tank top straps slide just a little when she moves a certain way. _If that boy licks his lips one more time..._

Madge and Katniss excitedly decide they want to make another double batch, probably because they are completely hyper from a couple dozen cookies each. They look bummed when Peeta explains that we're out of ingredients until Finn says that he's happy to take them to the store for another batch of what he is calling _Cramper Dampers_. We all laugh and there's an argument about whether Madge can leave the dorm looking the way she does - _oh, please_. Finn wins by telling her that she is gorgeous.

Peeta sneaks a look at Katniss like he wants to say something when Katniss renders him speechless: she walks over to him and asks for help taking off her apron with some bullshit story about how the knot is too tight for her to unravel. Once Peeta has it off of her, she grabs the last cookie, leans into Peeta and says in a voice I've never heard before, "Thanks for a great idea, Peeta. Share the last cookie with me?" She holds the cookie up to his mouth so he can take a bite, then finishes the rest before shooting him a smile and wandering out the door.

"Chew and swallow." I cross to the sink and put our bowls and stuff inside so we can clean up.

"What?" He pulls his eyes from the door.

"Chew. Otherwise you'll choke." I shake my head and laugh. "Remind me to high-five her when she gets back."

He rubs his eyes and crosses over to help me wash and dry. "What the hell just happened?"

"I think you just met Everdeen's uterus. Welcome to PMS: where we're emotional and have voracious appetites of all kinds." I wink at him and he laughs.

"This is why I'm glad I grew up with brothers."

"Yeah, me too. I'm the oldest of four - all brothers." I leave out any mention of a younger sister.

Peeta grins and points to himself, "Youngest of three."

"That explains a lot about why you have no game. Youngest kids have it all handed to them on a platter."

I can't tell what I've said that makes Peeta laugh so hard, but he can't seem to shut it off. "Yeah, I had it so easy."

-o—

It's a little later during our cleaning and straightening that Peeta finally breaks the silence. "You and Finn have such a great relationship. You can tell each other anything." He sounds envious.

"Where's your best friend?" It's obviously not Gale and I'm curious; Madge had said that their home town was small.

"Delly stayed in-state for school. I miss her. She always helped me with the girl's perspective on things." He sighs.

"What about Brue? You guys seem close?"

"We are, I guess. He really helped me out when school first started. But I can't talk to him about…" Peeta waves his hand in the air expressively. "Besides, it's like he's impervious. He doesn't hook up at all."

I tell myself the clenching I feel in my gut is just cramps and not something about Brue. _Liar. _"You want to talk to someone about Katniss? Why don't you give me a try?"

Peeta is skeptical. "You're her roommate."

_Duh. Oh, brainless…that makes me the best person to ask. _"So?"

He lets out a gigantic sigh, like he's considering it. Finally, he says, "Well, um…I don't know what I'm doing."

I close my eyes. "Holy Mother of God. You're a virgin too?"

Peeta blushes. "No. God. No." He's emphatic.

"Good, because I can't possibly coach both of you through your first time." I blow out a breath slowly.

"You mean Katniss is…" He looks shell-shocked enough that I make him sit down and drink some water.

"Duh. Yeah. What did you think?" I tap my finger impatiently on the table.

"Well, uh…Gale…"

I start to laugh…I can't help it. "Seriously? No. You must not know her that well. Katniss needs someone patient who will woo her, not someone who will back her up against a tree or something." I take his water cup and refill it, placing it on the table in front of him.

"That does not make me feel better."

"…Because you want to back her up against a tree?" I say wryly.

"Well, yeah. I'm a guy."

I've got to give him props for honesty. "But you freeze up every time she touches you. I don't think that you're at risk for throwing her over your shoulder."

He shrugs, looking down at the cup in his hands. "I've liked her forever. _Forever_." He draws out the word like it should mean something…more. Like there's at least a deep seated yearning involved here. "…but I can count on two hands how many times she spoke to me growing up. It's like she didn't even know I existed."

"Well, she's noticing now. Stop being a total pussy and freezing up whenever she's around. Compliment her. Touch her. Pretty soon she'll have _you_ backed up against a tree or lying across your motorcycle or whatever." Wow. Ok, that mental image is awesome._ I wonder if Peeta would let me borrow his bike?_

"You think so?" He's skeptical.

"Dude, she leaned into you today. At basketball, she had her freakin' hands _inside_ your shorts. Every Tuesday night it's like food foreplay between you two. And in case you haven't noticed, she's panting for it every single time we show up. She eats it up – literally. When are you going to man up and move things along? Or are you going to choke under the pressure?" I stare at him until he drops his eyes. He stands to get more water from the sink when he drops his cup.

I'm enjoying the view as he bends over to retrieve it (hey, I'm still horny, shoot me!) when his shirt rides up and exposes the scar I noticed at the basketball game. "What's that?" I point toward it.

He stands quickly, pauses for second and then refills his water glass.

Now, I'm a patient person. Right? But I don't let anyone ignore me. I cross over to him and grab his shirt, scrunching it up his back until I can see it better. It's a scar, maybe 3 inches in diameter – almost a perfect circle. That alone is odd, like the contact was steady and straight-on; direct contact and not a glancing blow or a drip of some sort. But the weird thing, the thing that has me looking closer at it, is that I think I recognize the shape. It's a flower, I think, a rosette. Although it's hard to tell because the edges are so puffy-shiny from scarring that they are indistinct in some places.

I let his shirt go and make my way back to the table until he has had his fill of water and turns to face me. When he does, I say quietly, "I know what that is. My Stepmom makes rosette cookies every Christmas. They're beautiful and yummy and a lot of work. So how does someone get a burn from a rosette iron on their back?" I keep my voice soft because I genuinely want to know if the horrible feeling I have in the pit of my stomach is even close to accurate.

Peeta shrugs and meets my eyes, his own clear and blue. "The bakery I told you I grew up in? My brothers and I were fooling around one day. One of them was chasing me with the iron and it slipped."

I think hard about what I know of grease burns and livestock branding , physics, human biology. It's plausible and he looks so convincing. Guileless. But I know that look: I see it in myself sometimes. Where his eyes are sincere, my own mask is full of determination. Either way, it's a mask.

"Bullshit. The shape, the even pressure, the depth of the burn…it's like someone held the hot, greasy iron flat on your back for a few seconds. It's almost perfectly round, so you didn't flinch much. The pain had to be excruciating."

His eyes give him away. "I told you…"

"Not buying it. Katniss said that she's never seen you without your shirt off in recent memory. Rocking body like yours with a pussy-magnet scar like that would have any other guy wearing it like a red badge of courage. What really happened? You can tell me." I coax him.

Peeta lets out a shaky laugh. "What are you, Jo? Practicing to be a cop? Because you would be great at it."

"Come on Peet. Trust me. How horrible can it be?" I falter for a minute, wondering if I'm on the right track. His secret may just blow my own away. And it dawns on me that the one way to get him to share may be to open up to him too, so I blurt out my own pain. "I'll go first. My little sister…she drowned. It was my fault." The blossom of pain unfurls where my heart should be but I push through it like I've been doing since the day she died. I cross my arms over my chest. "I showed you mine…"

"So I should show you mine?" He smirks and closes his eyes. "Let's just say that my Mom didn't always think I did the best job I could at the bakery."

"Your fucking Mother did this?" I'm feeling sick. _What. The. Fuck._

He shrugs, like it's old news to him. "Yeah. My Mother thought some of the cookies were overdone. So she wanted to show me how long they should take so that I would never forget. I guess it worked."

It's already out there. And, even though he's uncomfortable, I feel like I have to keep going. "Is she a big woman?" Peeta's not little by any means.

The quiet and nonchalant way he responds has me so angry that I want to snap the wooden mixing spoon I'm fiddling with. "I was littler then."

I picture a Mother telling a much smaller Peeta to hold still so she could teach him a lesson. Maybe she holds him down across a chair or something. Either way, the mental image makes me see red. "How can you not want to kill her?" I blurt out.

He laughs and it's not a pleasant sound. "I'm seeing someone who is helping me work through it. How about you? How are you dealing with yours?"

It's my turn to laugh. "I'm not. I don't even talk about it."

"It helps. You can't run away from it forever, you know. I like my shrink - he's a pretty practical guy. Quiet. You should talk to him."

"I'll think about it." We smile at each other after an awkward pause, like waking up after a one night stand when you can't remember the person's name.

His smile shifts and suddenly his killer dimples flash. "Did she really say something about wanting to see me shirtless?"

I laugh genuinely with relief. "She sure did, brainless."

-o—

Katniss, Madge, and I become minor celebrities in our dorm for the "Cramper Damper" incident. We handed out baggies of 4 cookies to every single door. Our hormonal dorm-mates ate them up, and Peeta and Finn became honorary dorm residents. I don't even want to think about the mileage Finn is going to get out pulling a stunt like that – talk about social networking! I'm sure he now thinks Facebook should have a "fuck request" for people who don't really want to read all the stupid bullshit but who just want to hit it when they're bored or there's nothing good on television or Netflix.

As a result of the Cramper Dampers, and the fact that we are all around cool chicks, we have a ton of invites to Halloween festivities. One problem: I don't want to go. Halloween reminds me of trick or treating and that reminds me of things I'd rather not think if. So, when Madge announces that she wants to go to the Lamba Chi Halloween party while we're eating breakfast one morning, I look at her like she has two heads.

"You want to go? But you're never the one who wants to go to parties."

She smiles and it's slow and wicked. "I know. But I have a plan to make Gale regret that he ever called me a princess. Come see my costume."

We head up to her room and Kat and I stare at her excuse for a costume as she talks. "I'm going as Scheherazade."

"You mean from 1001 Nights?" Katniss asks when she can finally shut her mouth.

"Yep." Madge sounds please. "I want to torment him." That's going to be an understatement: the belly dancing outfit on her bed is diaphanous. In shades of lavender and blue, it will hang off of her hips and tinkle with tiny bells when she walks and the scarves will float around her feet. The push up bra is silk or something and lacy with a little more chiffon to cover some cleavage. With Madge's body, though, it's going to be like dick dynamite walking into that frat house. I'm sure Shakira herself could not get more of a reaction.

Katniss swallows hard. I can't tell if she's uncomfortable about the idea of semi-nudity at a frat house, or the thought of Madge and Gale. Together.

"I can't let you go alone to a frat house in that." I've done a lot of stupid things in my short life. Letting her walk in there, dressed like that, is just beyond stupid.

Madge laughs. "Jo, you're my Mother now? I'll be fine."

"Not alone you won't. I don't even think me acting as your wingman would keep them off of you. They'll be like cock zombies." Suddenly, I have an idea. "What about Finn? He's the perfect bubble of safety." No guy is going to approach her while she is basking in the beauty of Finn Odair.

"You think he'd do it?" Madge asks and I nod.

"With you? Wearing that? That will cement his rep as the Lady's Lone Ranger. I think he can work with it. What else do you have planned for Gale?"

Madge shrugs. "I haven't thought much beyond the costume. Although if he gets really drunk, I might tie him up just to mess with him. Maybe read him erotic love poetry in Latin all night? I want to really hit him where it hurts."

I gape. "You think Latin is going to be hitting him where it hurts?" I don't know Gale well enough, but I turn to face Katniss because she does.

Katniss sees the question I'm about to ask and licks her lips nervously. "You should…you should mess with his hair. He loves his hair."

"What kind of shampoo does he use? Do you know?" I ask Katniss. When she answers, I nod. "I think I've got an idea. Let me text Finn."

-o—

I can't stop laughing when Finn shows up at our door. "You are going to a frat party in _that_?" Finn is wearing some sort of sarong made out of gold netting over some light greenish fabric. It's short and strategically knotted in front and I am not convinced that he's wearing anything under it. He's smooth and golden from the tip of his hair to his sandal clad feet. I can tell he's having quite an effect because the Woohoo girls had given out a loud _woohoo!_ as he walked by their room.

"Glad to see you got dressed up, Mason." He motions to my shorts and a t-shirt.

I give him the finger and ask if he's going commando. He winks at me and says, "That's for some lucky co-ed to find out." He follows it with a whisper to me, "I brought what you asked for," and fumbles with his trident to detangle it from the bag he's carrying.

Yes, you heard right. He's carrying a fucking trident.

I take the package. "Thanks, Finn. You're the best."

He grins. "I know. Madge is going to owe me."

I snort. "Put your cum canon away for the night, big guy. Like you even have a chance with her."

Finn looks like he's going to say something else when Madge comes into the room and his jaw drops: she's gorgeous. Her hair is soft around her face, her body pale and glowing against the scarves. A veil covers the bottom half of her face making her eyes appear huge with their heavy, dark make-up. She looks smoky and mysterious.

_Gale is in so much trouble._

"M'lady…" Finn bows over Madge's hand and kisses the knuckle. "You are…?"

"…Scheherazade. Queen Scheherazade."

"Ah. 1001 nights would never be enough for us. I am King Triton. I'll lure you in deep and make you wet."

I snort at Finn and roll my eyes, finally handing Madge the contents of the bag. "Undersee, here's you secret weapon." It's a bottle of Gale's shampoo, but it's filled with a secret elixir. (Ok, it's not that secret. It's just the secret to Finn's smooth chest.)

"Shampoo?" She looks confused from me to Finn.

I laugh. "It's a special blend. Finn? Care to explain?"

"I understand that he is especially fond of his hair. Do you see my manly chest? How it glistens with oil?"

"Finn…" I can't stop laughing.

"Jo, do not interrupt the lovely maiden's perusal. Are you done perusing?" He turns this way and that so Madge can really get the full effect. "Not a hair in sight, right?" He winks.

"Oh my God." Madge exclaims, then pops the top of the bottle and sniffs. "Is this….'

I chortle. "It's a Nair-shampoo blend. We used this prank at cheerleading camp whenever someone was a stuck up bitch."

Her outfit tinkles gently as she laughs.


	6. Tested

_I do not own The Hunger Games._

**Tested**

Midterms suck. It's not that I haven't prepped for tests before – I'm actually a great test taker, thank-you-very-much - I just hate long studying sessions. Mechanical engineering is a challenge and I have to keep up with all the other engineering nerds.

What_?_ You thought I would be a philosophy major?

I love math: algorithms get me hot in a way that most other subjects don't. I'm not ashamed to say that a good calculus problem or a ten page proof are sexy as hell. Although I may love math, it does not always love me back: today is one of those times when I just can't get it to stick in my head. I need to get it down, though, because tomorrow is my final midterm. The only thing standing between me and a mid-term free weekend is calculus so I'm studying my book and notes like they're the Kama Sutra and I'm locked in a room with the Magic Mike cast and a handful of Viagra.

We're at the frat house, studying. At least, I've got my earbuds in and am rocking out to my favorite go-to playlist while everyone else is doing who-knows what. Brue's got his iPad out with a keyboard app on it and his headphones plugged in. Katniss has her trusty pad and pencil and seems to be reviewing notes. Peeta is nowhere to be found yet. Finn is learning the muscles of the body. He keeps trying to get Madge's attention, like maybe she can help quiz him, but she's ignoring him to study her roman civilization text. Gale is fixated on Madge's lips while she sucks on the tip of a highlighter.

And yes, he still has all of his hair. I wonder if he realizes how close he came to being bald? Madge said that she had gotten to the party and somehow misplaced the bottle. She had, however, managed to tie him up and read to him for a little while and she left him with a veil or two as a souvenir. I'm sure that's why he can't seem to take his eyes off of her: score one for Madge!

The rest of the gang takes a break outside to blow off some steam and it's just Brue and I at the table. I see him pull off his headphones out of the corner of my eye and reach for my phone. He grabs it and messes with my playlist.

"Hey, I'm listening to that!"

"Justin Timberlake? That's predictable." He scoffs.

I try to grab the phone away, but he's not giving it up. "J.T. is very talented and a good beat helps me study."

He frowns as he flips through the list. "You've got some really different stuff, but Tupac, B.O.B., Otis Redding, The Who, Lenny Kravitz, and Led Zeppelin should not be on the same playlist as Carly Rae Jepsen, One Direction, and Kelly Clarkson."

"There's nothing wrong with Kelly Clarkson." I grab for it again and he holds it just out of reach.

"You've got Taylor Swift on here. And Aretha. There should be a law against them being on the same playlist. And… is that Nickelback?"

I grab the phone. "Yeah. So? Some of their stuff is good. It's not like I've got Bieber loaded up."

Brue looks at me like I'm an idiot. "It's music written by and for simpletons."

"Mutt Lange produced some of their stuff and they have tremendous sales."

"It's not all about sales and mass marketing," He comments.

I stare at him for a minute, reaching for something Finn told me. "Aren't you majoring in music production? If you are, you should probably care a lot about sales."

He looks at me for a minute then leans back and laughs, sliding my phone back toward me. "Touché, Jo. Are you passionate about everything? Cheerleading, math, music...are you ever tepid about anything?"

"What's the point in doing something if you're not going to do it all the way? It's about committing." I honestly don't get it. Is he telling me that he thinks I should be more wishy-washy? _Blech._

"It's got to be exhausting. That's all. Maybe you should learn to pace yourself." His chair is resting on two legs as he leans back and it reminds me of Libra, the scales weighing me and finding me lacking.

I narrow my eyes at him. "At least I'm not mediocre."

He just stares at me for a minute, his blue eyes unreadable. "No. No you're not."

-o-

I'm still stewing over Brue throughout my midterm and into the afternoon when Madge and Katniss decide I have a little fun. We head to The Row and look for some entertainment somewhere besides Lambda Chi. The whole street is packed like it's Mardi Gras because every single co-ed has had the same idea: girls and guys are everywhere, flipping hair and mashing their gyrating, sweaty bodies together. We head into some other frat house to grab a beer and I start to loosen up as I watch Madge flirt with a few guys who seem to remember her from Halloween.

Obviously, she made quite an impression.

I'm feeling out of place and maudlin, which isn't like me. Unlike Gale, I'm a do-er, not a brooder. I want…something, I'm just not sure what. I'm not drunk enough to flirt yet, and I don't even want to bone someone: something must really be wrong. _What would Finn do?_ I bet he would tell me to fake it 'til I make it. _I'm going to have a good time, damn it!_ I take deep breaths and close my eyes for a minute trying to summon my Libido Lone Ranger to the rescue.

"Parties are more fun with your eyes open."

I sigh. _Fucking Hawthorne._ "Please don't stand too close: all of your dark and brooding is just going to rub off. Why are you even here? Don't you have your own house to haunt?"

Gale shrugs. "…Bunch of the guys wanted to branch out a little." He's silent for almost a minute while we both sip our beer. "Halloween was your idea, wasn't it?"

"What?" I'm only half listening, like my brain is half at the party or my ears are filled with cotton.

"Madge's costume…the tie-up…that was you."

I choke on my mouthful of beer. When I recover, I smirk at him. "Nope. Not at all. Although I'm flattered that you think I'm that creative." And I'm not even lying: those things were her idea, not mine.

"Come on, Jo. She never, ever would have done something like that at home."

"You must not know her that well then, Gale. Because here's a newsflash that maybe you've missed but she hasn't." I lean closer to him to make sure he can hear me and then I viciously over-enunciate. "You're not at home anymore. Open your eyes and wake the fuck up." I can't believe he can't see her for who she is now.

I push past him, so pissed that I just want to get the hell out of there. I go to dump my cup of beer when I spy a passel of guys playing cards. Again.

I know. I know. I'm sure it's a test, but I can't resist.

I slide into a chair with my _I'm a girl _mask fully in place, complete with high-pitched giggling. The first hand I win and it's like everyone thinks my shy smile is adorable. I'm congratulating myself on another great night where I take advantage of the dumber sex when one of the guys stands up and announces that he's going to get more beer and leaves his seat empty. _No problem. _Right? Wrong. Guess who sits down at the empty seat? I glare at Brue across the table and he just shoots me a jaunty salute.

"Mason." He says. By his tone I can tell that the jig is up and he's going to blow my cover. _Fuck._ I deflate faster than a dick at a nun convention. Not only did Brue wreck last night with his snide comments, but he's going to go in for the kill on my evening tonight as well.

I win the second hand as well and give a convincing "beginner's luck" titter. My heart's not in it, though and I just know that my best plan of action is to get up and leave. I want to scream in frustration and stamp my feet all the way to the front door. Who the hell is this guy to be my ultimate buzz-kill?

As if he is reading my mind, Brue leans forward and says, loud enough for the whole table to hear, "How about we make this more interesting?"

I'm not about to back down from a direct challenge, especially from the guy who is essentially Batman to my Catwoman. "What did you have in mind?" Because I'm going to say yes pretty much no matter what.

His head turns to the side as he assesses me. "Strip poker."

Every male face at the table goes slack and they swing their eyes to me. I almost snort in delight: like I care about a little naked flesh? It was Brue in my dorm room who made me get dressed. _Yeah, but he also didn't seem to care when you dropped your towel. He seemed pretty unimpressed. _

I shush the voice in my head, toss my hair and say, "Sounds good." I swear I can hear the silent roaring and cat-calling of the other guys, but I never take my eyes off Brue. He gives me a slow half-smile.

A hand on my shoulder shakes me out of my staring contest. "Count me in too,'' Madge says and sits down next to me. I do a double take in her direction but she just smiles at me sweetly. Brue looks surprised. The reaction of the rest of the table is like Bruckheimer filming a money shot: every guy at the table goes silent and licks their lips in anticipation of not one, but two sets of boobs.

Frankly, Madge is so hot that I'm even salivating a little.

So we get started. I wonder if Brue has made a tactical error, since he knows that I kick ass at poker. He's good, but he's not me and I can probably remain comfortably dressed while all the other guys nude up. The problem with my strategy becomes apparent after the first couple of hands. Although I'm great, Madge isn't. She's only okay. Do I let my friend end up naked while I stay clothed? The other problem is that we're not really dressed for strip poker: we're both wearing simple outfits and sandals and don't even have socks to help us along, unlike the guys at the table. She's already got her flip flops and her bangle bracelet off when I realize that I can't help Madge win, but I can keep her from nuding-up all by herself. You know, like a good friend.

Which means that I'll have to let Brue…well… I'll have to let him win. The thought sticks in my craw like a chicken bone.

So I lose a couple of hands on purpose. To my delight, Brue ends up with his shoes and socks off too. You can see the tension build as the guys look at each other, knowing that the next hand chances are good that Madge and I might end up with our pants or shirts off. I'm not worried about me because I'm pretty used to be being largely unclothed around people – prancing around in a really short skirt and tiny sweater will do that - and it doesn't concern me. Madge, though… I'm not sure what's going to happen when she has to peel her clam diggers off.

The hand ends and Madge, Brue and I all have to get rid of something. I wait until he removes his shirt so that I don't miss a second of his lean arms and broad shoulders. Sure enough, he's hairless. I silently take in his hardwood floors and wonder if he lets his hair grow back during the off season. I'm discovering that I like a little chest hair when I'm with a guy. I shake myself: I am not _with him. _Get it together, Mason.

It's my turn and I do what I consider to be the safe thing – my shorts come off with a shimmy of my hips that reveals my electric blue boy shorts with_ HOT!_ emblazoned in pink across my ass. I sit down on my chair, realizing that none of the guys except Brue are watching me anyway: they are all panting for the lovely Madge to put them out of their misery.

She gives a shy smile and starts to unbutton her white linen blouse. I swear, I can hear the blood rushing to groins around the table as button by button she reveals more pale skin. She's completely undone and shrugging her shoulders out of her top to expose a very lacy white bra that nicely displays her assets. All of the eyes at the table are fixated on her as if she's Dita Von Teese while she completely removes her blouse and places it on the back of her chair.

I lean over, "You ok?"

She nods and giggles. "Yeah. It's…it's sort of freeing, isn't it?"

"The attention?" I frown a little as they deal the next hand.

Madge shakes her head. "No. Being ok with being naked."

I want to tell her that we're not naked yet. Instead, I nod. "It's no big deal." She flips her hair and runs her fingers down her neck and I swear it's like throwing chum in shark infested waters. All I can think is that we're going to need a bigger boat.

Right around the middle of another hand, I realize we're drawing a crowd. Rather, Madge's rack is drawing 'em in. _Chum, indeed._ We've got a circle of guys around the table and it actually begins to worry me that we're in an advanced state of undress and surrounded. Brue catches my eye and I can see his frown: he seems to have picked up on my fear but obviously doesn't understand it. My mind is no longer on the game, it's on making a safe exit from the party for both Madge and I.

We lose. Madge immediately stands and starts inching the zipper of her pants down and I tug my shirt over my head, exposing my pink bra. Brue shucks out of his jeans, exposing briefs and muscular legs. I pull myself away from staring when he leans over and asks loudly, "Pink, Mason? What's your thing for pink?"

I flip my hair and blurt out, "Pink is the new red," when I realize it's the bra that I wore when he returned my keychain. I hope he remembers that day and how I look out of it.

I hear someone say, "Is that my Queen?" from behind us and Finn pushes through the crowd. Immediately, we are enveloped in his trusty bubble of hotness whereby no other man will mess with us, despite all of the attention we're getting. I can't recall a time in recent memory when I've been happier to see him.

Madge squeals – actually fucking squeals – when she sees him. She jumps up and hangs off of his neck, giving him a huge hug and a peck on the mouth and I randomly wonder exactly how drunk she is.

I lean over close to his ear and whisper, "You are the best wingman. Ever."

He pulls back a little and puts an arm around each of us. "I know." He says, modestly. He's holding two scantily clad women in the middle of a midterm frat party. Every guy in the place suddenly thinks we're going to leave and have a three way and I'm okay with that simply because it means we get _to leave_. I kiss his cheek in gratitude and he even blushes a little bit, then swats me on the ass. "Come on, ladies. Let's make like a tree and leave."

I hustle back into my clothes while making the appropriate apologies to the guys at the table. Only Brue looks at me with that smirk he wears so well and I hear one of the guys ask him if he's going to get my phone number.

An unexpected hurt cuts right through me when he stares at me and says, "Oh, I've got her number already. I've got her pegged."

_Fuck you, Brue. You don't know me at all._

I turn to watch Finn helping Madge back into her shirt. She's staring up at Finn with a weird squinty look - like he's a god and she's never seen him before - when I see Gale walking toward us with his eyes fixated on Finn's tan hands against Madge's pale body.

_Uh oh._

-o—

"Who does he think he is?" Madge has her hands on her hips. Her perfect lips are drawn into a deep frown. "He doesn't own me." She's talking about Gale, of course. Gale, who punched Finn last night after seeing him buttoning Madge's blouse. Poor Katniss had to pull Gale off so that we could all high-tail it out of there.

"Madge, calm down." Katniss talks to her carefully, quietly.

"No. I. Will. Not. Finn was just trying to be helpful."

I find myself in the strange position of sticking up for Gale instead of Finn. "Look. I think he was just protecting you. He must have thought you and Finn were _together_ because of Halloween. He doesn't deal well with change and you were mostly naked at a party with a guy's hands on you….what would you have done if it were Gale?"

"You mean if Gale were at a sorority party and some girl were all over him?" Madge pleats her soft pink pajama top nervously. "I don't know. It didn't really bother me much when he and Katniss were together."

Katniss interjects, "We were never _together._"

Madge waves her hand, "You know what I mean. I just assumed you guys were going to end up together after a particularly drunken night someday. But I guess I see your point, Jo…I wouldn't want it flaunted in front of me." She sighs.

It's quiet for a moment when Katniss says, "Did you see his face? He couldn't take his eyes off of you." Katniss has a tone to her voice that's hard to read. It could be envious, or even jealous.

Madge colors prettily. "That was only because of Finn. I'm not even sure Gale's ever seen me as a _girl_ before, except maybe on Halloween." She turns to me, "And what was going on with you and Brue? I don't think it was the beer that made me think things were tense between you guys."

So I tell them all of it. How I feel like he picks on me: his comments about my music, how it feels like he goads me all the time, how he thinks that he's better than me. I can't bring myself to mention that I'm hurt at his total lack of reaction to my naked body and how he seems offended by my pink underwear. _Who gets offended by pink underwear?_ I uncharitably think that he must like beige or white, like granny panties.

They don't laugh. If anything, Madge seems more incensed at every word I utter, like she's unequivocally on my side. Katniss tries to get us to analyze it from his point of view, but I don't want to. Just talking about it makes me feel raw and sensitive and I'm sure that she's at least partially right: I bet am I overreacting. But I _want_ to overreact.I don't know why he's under my skin and I just want him gone from there.

Don't I?


	7. The Disappearance (K&P Outtake)

_I do not own The Hunger Games._

_A wedding gift for BaronessKika. Special thanks to soamazinghere, honeylime08, and scoutchick104 for pre-readng. This chapter is also going out to LisaLevine, FFR and Sighing39 and everyone else who noticed that Katniss and Peeta were not in Ch 6._

_Heavyarms59, this may not make you throw your keyboard. But it did make me yell at my screen a few times. _

**Chapter 6.5: The Disappearance (Katniss/Peeta Outtake)**

I do not own The Hunger Games.

Chapter 7: The Disappearance

"Hey. How were your midterms?" Katniss asks Peeta, her expression reflecting her happiness at seeing someone she knows. Super-ragers are more Johanna's thing, not hers.

Peeta runs a hand through his hair. "Okay. Some of the engineering pre-reqs are really kicking my butt."

"You're an engineering major too?" Katniss's face reflects surprise. She watchs his fingers as he drags them through his curls and thinks about Jo's statement that he resembles a golden retriever. She doesn't see it, not at all.

He nods. "Yeah. Chemical engineering. I like to see stuff come together, reactions, that sort of thing. But even the pre-reqs are hard compared to what we had in high school."

"Why not ask Jo if you can study together?" Katniss stumbles into him as she's jostled by a drunken co-ed.

Peeta laughs, showing off his nicely even teeth. "Jo? Because she's terrifying. I like my studying with a little less threat of possible bodily injury. Really. I don't see how you can spend time alone with her."

Katniss immediately comes to her defense, "She's not so bad. She's just a little…colorful."

"Yeah. You can say that again." Peeta frowns as Katniss is bumped again and he watches her shoot a dirty look at the culprit. "You want to take a walk? Get out of here for a bit?"

Katniss looks at her half-full red solo cup. She's not in the mood to drink warm, crappy beer. As good as it sounds to get drunk and lose herself for a while, what she really wants is to be out in the woods. She breathes a sigh because she knows how completely impossible an idea that is.

Peeta misinterprets the sound. "Hey, never mind. It's a dumb idea."

Katniss stares blankly at him before she catches on to why he's suddenly changing his mind. "No. It's a great idea. I was just…just thinking that I wish I could head into the woods. You know, to relax."

Peeta's frown clears and a light enters his eyes. "I might be able to arrange that. Come on." He holds out his hand and together they walk out of the house.

-o-

"You're going to just hang on and lean with me, ok? And remember, we can talk to each other if we need to." Peeta hands Katniss a black helmet and a leather jacket that she just knows is going to be too big. She is more concerned, though, with getting on the motorcycle. She eyes the space behind him on the seat warily.

"Come on. Trust me, you'll love it," He says as he holds out a hand to help her put her leg over the seat. She is glad that the helmet covers her face, which she is sure is aflame when he says, "OK. Put your arms around me and hang on tight until you get the feel of the bike. It's like riding a horse."

Katniss doesn't tell him that she's never done that, either. She just slides her arms around him, scooting her butt as close to his on the seat as she can. The helmet makes her head feel heavy and funny and she can't feel much because of the leather jacket. She almost feels like she is in a bubble and Peeta is the only other thing in it.

"Ready? I'm going to go on three. Remember, just lean with me. One…Two…"

And then she feels nothing but the wind rushing past her and Peeta's big body shielding her, thighs shifting with the motion of the bike underneath them.

-o—

"Oh my God, that was incredible!" Katniss laughs as she pulls off her helmet. Peeta thinks that he has never seen a prettier sight. "I can't wait to tell Jo about it."

Peeta laughs. "Yeah. I'm sure she'll love to hear all about the great ride I gave you." At Katniss's flush, his dimples flash coyly. "You know she'll go there."

Katniss sighs and looks around. "Yeah. I do. So…where are we?"

"…Griffith Park. I think it's the closest thing to our woods back home that I've seen since coming to L.A. Want to take a hike? We've got a little time yet before the park closes." Peeta motions to a hiking trail that disappears between the trees. Katniss starts walking and Peeta follows her, a companionable quiet between them and the sounds of the evening woods surrounding them. A mile later, Katniss throws back her head and breaths deeply. She can still taste the L.A. smog, but it is mixed with the smell of leaves and green things and animals and she feels re-charged.

"Thank you. This is…this is lovely." She smiles at him. "You know, you brought me to the woods near dark… how do I know you're not an axe murderer? They say it's always the quiet ones."

Peeta snorts. "Then it's more likely to be you murdering me because I think that's the first time anyone's ever accused me of being quiet."

Katniss laughs. "Yeah, well, your footprints would be a giveaway. You have a heavy tread. Do you mind if I…" Katniss points to the tree behind her, indicating that she wants to climb.

"Go ahead." Peeta shrugs. "I'll keep watch."

"You're not much of a climber?" Katniss finds footholds carefully as she hoists herself up.

"Nah. I like to stay firmly on the ground most of the time. I'm not really built for climbing."

"You should let me teach you – you've got the shoulders for it." Her swift climb means she misses his shocked look at her compliment. "The view is different from up here." She looks down at his blonde head once she's reached what she considers a good distance.

"Oh? What do you see?" Peeta gazes up at her and their eyes catch and hold for a long moment.

Katniss can't answer his question. In the waning light, his blonde hair and pale skin shine brightly, like a beacon. He looks strong, solid. Trustworthy. What was it Jo had said that first day in the frat house? _How long have you been in love with my roommate?_ Is that even possible? With _her_? When she doesn't answer, Peeta looks away as if embarrassed to have asked the question in the first place.

Katniss clears her throat. "Hey. Want to…want to go get something to eat? My treat?" She hopes it isn't obvious that it is the first time she's ever asked a boy out.

Peeta's smile returns, dimples flashing. "Sure. I know just the place."

-o—

"Oh my God." Katniss moans as she spoons another bit of blackberry cobbler into her mouth. Peeta had navigated them to a dessert eatery in the Los Feliz area that he said was known for their cobbler. Katniss had remained skeptical until her first bite.

"Good, huh?" Peeta takes a much smaller mouthful, savoring the contrast of warm cobbler and cold ice cream.

"So good." Katniss agrees. "Gale and I used to pick blackberries in the woods and eat them by the handfuls. They were so sweet and ripe that my hands would be stained purple when we got home. This is pretty close, which is really saying something." She licks her spoon eloquently, completely unaware of the sensuality of the gesture.

"You and Gale always were close." Peeta takes another bite, careful to keep his voice neutral.

"We're friends. We help each other. Like you and Delly." Katniss shrugs nonchalantly.

Peeta swirls cobbler in ice cream thoughtfully. "I don't think so. Delly and I were close, but you and Gale had a special relationship."

Katniss pauses with her spoon in mid-air. "What's that supposed to mean?"

Peeta meets her eyes. "Aren't you more than that to each other?"

She shakes her head in negation before he even stops speaking. "No. We've never been more than friends to each other. Why does everyone say that?"

"We've all seen the way he looks at you." Peeta's response is matter-of-fact.

"No. That's not true. Gale and I are just friends." She emphasizes the last two words before taking another bite of cobbler. A frown mars her forehead.

Peeta wisely keeps quiet as they finished the dessert.

Katniss leans back and curls her hands around her teacup. She notices Peeta does the same, mimicking her gesture. She lets the quiet unravel between them as she plucks up her courage and finally says the words she has kept inside for six years. "I never got to say thank you."

"Thank you?" Peeta sounds confused.

"For…for you helping me. You know. That time." Katniss stares at her tea, her voice stilted and defensive.

Peeta looks at her in confusion. "When did I… you mean from when we were kids?"

She nods and plucks at the gingham tablecloth. "Yeah. I just…you were always so unapproachable."

His laughter is sharp, "Ha! First you call me quiet. Now it's unapproachable? You're opinion isn't very high of me, is it?"

Katniss scowls and looks away. "Ok. Maybe that was a bad choice of words. I'm just…not good at this."

"At what?" Peeta sounds perplexed.

"This." Katniss motions between the two of them.

He rubs the bridge of his nose like he is having trouble following the conversation. "Try me again. Why couldn't you tell me thank you?"

"What you did for me…it was huge. Life changing. Thank you was too little." Katniss looks down at her hand as it traces wet rings on the tablecloth.

Peeta's voice is soft when he says, "You're welcome. I wanted to do more."

Katniss shakes her head. "It wasn't necessary. I got on my feet and then Gale and I paired up." Peeta makes a noise and Katniss winces: they're right back to talking about Gale. "What about… why didn't you ever talk to me in high school?"

It's Peeta's turn to watch his hands. "You know why." He frowns as Katniss shakes her head. "Johanna said it that first day."

Katniss shakes her head again. "I doubt that."

"Don't do that." Peeta says sharply. "Don't. Don't reject what I feel because you don't understand it. What Johanna said is the truth. I've just…I've never been able to admit it to you."

"But that can't be true. Because Johanna said…" Katniss reaches back in her memory to that first morning at the frat house. How had Johanna put it exactly? It was important not to get it wrong.

"…She said that I was in love with you." Peeta is angry, two spots of color appearing high on his cheekbones. "You don't have to say anything. It feels good to say it out loud. My therapist will be so proud." His grin twists in self-derision.

He won't meet her eyes as she pays the bill and leaves a tip. When it's time to get back on the bike, he stops her with a deep sigh. "Look, I'm sorry. I probably shouldn't have said anything in there. It sort of wrecked the night and I didn't mean to make it so awkward. I don't know what I was thinking; it's not like you were going to confess your undying love for me in return. I guess what I'm trying to say is that I'm sorry for putting you on the spot."

"Peeta, you don't have to apologize. I won't admit that I know how to respond to what you said. I just…can you give me some time? Can we just pretend that it didn't happen or something? It's a lot to take in all at once." She doesn't add that she has no idea what to do with his declaration, even though it makes her curious.

He haltingly nods and mounts the bike, then reaches around to help her.

She swings her leg over the seat and scoots closer to him. Her hand loops around his waist and tangles in the belt loops of his jeans, like it's the most natural thing in the world.


	8. Girl Power

_I do not own The Hunger Games._

**Girl Power**

Later that day, Madge barges into our room and tells us that she's springing for pizza and a movie on her Netflix. We end up watching _The Avengers_, because who doesn't love that cast? And the Black Widow is freaking awesome. We're all a little bit hyper from too many sodas when the movie's over and somehow end up with a girl power playlist blasting through speakers loud enough that I'm surprised Effie hasn't come by to say something. Then again, it is the Saturday night after midterms, so maybe she's cutting us some slack.

The woohoo girls pop in and bring some hard lemonade and wine coolers, which is fine by me: I need a little numbness to wash away the last couple of days. Madge has cued up some videos that she considers empowering or maybe just hot. We're listening to Maroon 5 and watching Adam Levine sweat to _Harder to Breathe_ and suddenly I'm jumping up and down on the bed singing the words at the top of my lungs with one of the woohoos whose name I don't even know. We're giggling and laughing and I'm feeling the bitterness just wash away. Madge hands me another lemonade and I drink it greedily, noticing that she's gotten paint pens from somewhere and is starting to write lyrics in her girly script on the walls of my half of the room. Katniss either doesn't notice or doesn't care. I figure it's the latter when she picks up a pen and adds to the fun. Before too long, I've joined in and it looks like a pep rally exploded on our walls. I'm sure I'll be worried about getting it off – I'm not even sure these pens are water soluble – tomorrow.

When Kristina DeBarge comes on singing _Goodbye_ it's like Jock Jams took over our dorm room. We've got more girls coming in and singing with us. Katniss is drumming on the desk and Madge is pretending to sing into a hairbrush. The woohoos and I are doing a crazy amount of yelling during the backup parts and we're all laughing and jumping around. The track changes and Katniss stands on a dresser as she belts out _Respect _while we dance around her. When we hit the part where we spell RESPECT, it feels like the entire floor is yelling it out and we're laughing so hard we're crying.

I'm sweating like my room is a mosh pit. I've got strange floor-mates standing on my bed. I have people writing who-knows-what on my wall. And I'm happier than I've been in a while.

So when Little Mix comes on, it feels natural for Madge and Katniss and I to stand on the desk, stomp our feet and harmonize. We're just belting out the line, "Talk, talk turns into air/and I don't even care…" like we're freaking En Vogue when I see some decidedly male heads in our doorway. I don't know about the other ladies, but I'm suddenly singing directly to them.

I'm not sure if it's the pace change when Whitney's _I'm Every Woman_ starts or what, but their arrival seems to make the rest of the ladies dissipate. I'm bummed, even though we're still singing. Because I'm sure that we'd have more fun with the ladies than the guys who look aghast at what we're doing.

Have I mentioned that Everdeen can belt out a number like a pro? Peeta's staring at her like he wants to devour her whole, Brue looks stunned to hear that huge voice coming out of her and Finn is totally dancing to the groove like only a man confident of his masculinity can. We finish the song and Katniss sort of does a stage dive right into Peeta's arms. It's not a bad catch, considering he's never been trained professionally. Gale holds Madge around her waist and lifts her gently to the ground like a freaking porcelain doll.

Finn lowers the volume so I can suddenly hear myself think and holds his arms out for a neat catch, which I do. But I don't like the quiet. For once, I wish Finn weren't there to bring me back to earth.

The quiet is deafening. Finally Gale says, "We thought you guys might want to grab dinner with us.'

Madge looks at Finn's black eye critically, then glares at Gale. "You two…made up?"

Gale has the grace to look sheepish. "Yeah. I told him I was out of line after he explained that he was just trying to get you guys out of there. I'm still not sure what you guys were thinking." He gives me a dirty look, so I glance at Brue. _Because I wasn't really thinking at all._ I just wanted to show Brue that I could take whatever he could dish out.

My brown eyes clash with his blue ones and he clears his throat. "Can I talk to you for a minute?" He sounds nervous. Madge catches my eye and I nod at her, so she and Katniss tell me that they'll go on ahead to the dining hall. Katniss, of course, has to interject that I should hurry up because it's chimichanga night with all the fixin's. I wave them on and cross my arms over my chest when the door closes. It's quiet for a long minute, so I cock my eyebrow in Brue's direction.

"You're not going to make this easy on me, are you?" He sighs. "I'm sorry. Last night…last night was dumb. I was so hell-bent on making sure you didn't take advantage of the guys at the table that I didn't even think…"

I cut him off. "That we could have gotten hurt?"

He nods. "But you didn't have to say yes."

"I was pretty drunk until about halfway through the game. That's when I started to realize that something could go badly. I'm just glad Finn showed up." I look away from him. I don't want to explain that he gets to me in a way that makes me want to accept whatever dare he puts out there.

He confesses, "Finn's the one who set me straight." I don't know what to say to that: it makes sense that Finn would pick up on the fear underneath my bravado. "He's a good guy. And I wouldn't have even had to have the idea if you weren't such a card shark. So…no hard feelings?" He smiles and motions between the two of us.

"No. We're good," I lie. I don't think we're ever going to be good until I can stop thinking about him the way I do.

-o—

We come back to our room after dinner, the boys flopping down on our beds like they own the place. Katniss is griping that she doesn't have anything painted on her side of the room so Peeta haltingly offers to paint something.

_He fucking paints?_ _Is there anything this guy can't do? _I wonder if he's a lousy lay. _Maybe he has a tiny peen._ I glance at his crotch and try to guestimate the size of his junk, like I'm Bob Vila and he's a piece of wood.

Get it?

He takes off his shoes and stands on her bed while he draws the outline of a tree. Katniss watches him with interest, like she too had no idea that Peeta had an artistic side. I want to make a joke about _unplumbed depths_ but see Brue eyeing me from my beanbag chair and bite my tongue; plenty of time to tease her about Peeta's plumbing after they're all gone for the night.

Finn is fiddling with a pen on the desk as we all chat and try to digest what feels like twenty pounds of deep fried Mexican food. Suddenly, he stands and grabs at something shoved against the wall: it looks like a book.

"Oh, ho….Jo. You're kidding me. You're into this now?" He holds up a copy of Fifty Shades of Grey. He doesn't even wait for me to answer before he's flipping pages haphazardly. "Why can't girls just like normal porn? You freak out when guys watch it, but then you lay awake until two in the morning reading erotica. It makes no sense." He shakes his head and the rest of the guys laugh. "Am I making that up, guys? I mean, really…who needs all of this crappy description that you have to work to visualize? Watch something on the internet instead. It's faster and you don't have to worry about doing it one-handed."

I actually consider that point because it's a good one but Finn's on a roll so no one can interrupt. "Let me see. How about this passage?" He clears his throat and begins reading dramatically,

"He leans down and kisses me, his fingers still moving rhythmically inside me, his thumb circling and pressing. His other hand scoops my hair off my head and holds my head in place. His tongue mirrors the actions of his fingers, claiming me. My legs begin to stiffen as I push against his hand. He gentles his hand, so I'm brought back from the brink ... I come instantly again and again, falling apart beneath him … then I'm building again … I climax anew, calling out his name."

It's a little odd to hear a guy reading what is obviously a girl's point of view, but the rest of the room doesn't seem to care. Peeta is painting furiously, the sound of the paint pen scratching the wall the only sound. Madge looks like she wants to take notes. Katniss is staring at the floor and Brue and Gale share that know-it-all smirk they have in common.

Finn snorts. "Or what about this part? It's just ridiculous."

"He holds out his hand, and in his palm are two shiny silver balls linked with a thick black thread … _Inside me!_ I gasp, and all the muscles deep in my belly clench. My inner goddess is doing the dance of the seven veils …_Oh my_… It's a curious feeling. Once they're inside me, I can't really feel them—but then again I know they're there … _Oh my_… I may have to keep these. They make me needy, needy for sex."

I watch Madge shift a little on my bed, knowing that Finn's having a very different effect than he is going for: we are rapt, like Patrick Stewart is reading erotica to us instead of a fellow co-ed. There's a small group of girls hovering around the open door to our room and it makes me want to laugh. Finn thinks he's making fun of us? I see him glance up and acknowledge the audience. A strange look crosses his face when he sees one particular co-ed in the group outside our door and I can't tell if it's acknowledgement or wonder or recognition or exactly what. He looks almost startled for a moment before he recovers with a secretive smile.

I stare at my nails and goad him on. "You should look for a passage where there's S&M. I'm sure you guys will have something to say about that."

Finn frowns and turns some pages. "Ah, let's try this part."

"At the touch of leather, I quiver and gasp. He walks around me again, trailing the crop around the middle of my body. On his second circuit, he suddenly flicks the crop, and it hits me underneath my behind … against my sex … The shock runs through me, and it's the sweetest, strangest, hedonistic feeling … My body convulses at the sweet, stinging bite. My nipples harden and elongate from the assault, and I moan loudly, pulling on my leather cuffs."

I have to admit that even I'm sort of turned on by that passage. I wonder idly if Brian might be willing to do something with handcuffs and have to stop myself. With Brue in the room, it feels oddly wrong to consider doing something like that with Brian.

Finn makes a face and drops the book on the desk. "Jo, how can you even read this crap?"

I can't help it - I smile a pretty wide smile. Everdeen raises her eyes from the floor and I can see the panic along with a silent plea, but I counter it with a sidelong glance at Peeta.

I shrug. "It sounded pretty good coming from you, you know. But you've got it wrong: that's Everdeen's porn, not mine."

-o-

"Did you see his face?" I'm still laughing over Peeta's tomato-red face when he realized that little Katniss was reading Fifty Shades of Grey. I hiccup again when I think about how he had turned right back to his painting and finished it without a word. Gale, on the other hand, laughed so hard he fell off of the bed and hit his head.

Katniss says in a tight little voice. "It's not funny."

"It's fucking hysterical." I feel like cackling. When I get my laughter under control, I say, "Look. If you're gonna tame his wild beast, he has every right to know what you've been reading on the side. It's not like you're the only person to read that book."

"Yeah. But now he _knows_."

I scoff. "Oh, come on. It's not like he's going to run out and buy leather cuffs or a riding crop. He drew a tree on your wall for Christ's sake. At least now he knows what you're into."

"I am not _into_ it. I read it because I was curious. Besides, the tree is actually the apple tree behind his parent's bakery. It's nice. It reminds me of home." I hear her roll over and face the wall and know the conversation is over.

"Bullshit. You're into the leather. I bet you just want him to put on his leather pants, tie you up and take you bent over his motorcycle." Hell. Who wouldn't want that? The idea of Katniss having Peeta dominate her is enough to send me into another round of laughter. Katniss is quiet, though and I know I've crossed a line with her, so I catch my breath and consider the painting above her bed. It _is_ a nice tree. Very life-like. Peeta had painted it in bloom so that it has leaves and flowers and I can see how it's peaceful for Katniss to sleep beneath.

Wait a second. He drew a tree. A fucking _tree._ I reach back to our conversation the day of the Cramper Dampers…didn't he admit that he wanted to back her up against a tree? He drew a tree right above her bed, as if to say _X marks the spot._ Like when a baseball player calls his shot, he's getting bolder even if she doesn't know it. Hell, _he_ may not even know it.

I smother another laugh. Watching these two get together is going to be so much fun. That is, if she doesn't smother me in my sleep.

-o—

Parent's weekend comes. That's where families show up to make sure that all the money they are spending on our education is worth it. Katniss, Madge, Peeta and Gale are lucky that their families are too far away to make the trip. OK, maybe that's a fucked up thought. Who doesn't want to see their family after months apart for the first time ever?

Me.

I'm not ready to be shoved back into the box of behavior that their mere presence will force on me. I'm not ready for Katniss and Madge to meet them. I'm certainly not ready for them to meet Brian and I wonder if his family is going to fly in from St. Louis. Suddenly, my palms are sweaty.

I dress carefully: a sundress in blue and white, light makeup. It's the first time I've put on makeup since the day I moved in and it feels weird, like a mask. The girl looking at me from the mirror gets good grades, loves to cheerlead and has a guy for a best friend. She never misses a curfew and she doesn't drink because it would let her parents down. I stick out my tongue at my reflection and turn away to head to the freshman reception where we're meeting the parents who have made the trip.

"Why do I need to be here?" Katniss picks at her shorts. "It's not like my Mom and Prim are coming."

We wander around the reception eating fruit skewers and drinking sparkling cider. "You're here as moral support."

Katniss snorts and flings her braid over her shoulder. "For who? You? You've never needed moral support in your life. Plus, you've got Finn." She looks around the room, spots Gale and waves to him, then turns to me. She must see something vulnerable on my face because her smile slips. "Are you o…."

She never gets to finish the thought as she is rushed from behind and enveloped in a huge hug. "Katniss? Katniss Everdeen? Oh, it's so good to see you!" The guy has immense shoulders and forearms like small tree trunks and his blonde curls bounce as he talks to my roommate. "Your Mother and Prim will be so excited when I tell them I saw you. Would you mind taking a picture of us?"

The blonde guy hands me his cell phone and snuggles her closer to his side. She looks bewildered in the face of his whirlwind of enthusiasm. "Where's my son? Peeta! Peeta!" He waves frantically to a corner of the courtyard. "I'm so happy I decided to surprise him. This is going to be the best weekend!"

_Of course._ Peeta looks a lot like his Dad once they are standing side by side. Well, at least in the same way that a bear cub looks like a giant panda: everything about his Dad is bigger from his exuberant curls, to his dimples, to his laugh. His damn shoulders make Peeta look tiny. Peeta and Katniss both look uncomfortable as his Dad has an arm around each of them and squeezes. I'm not sure if the discomfort is because of the hug or because it looks like an anaconda is squeezing the life out of them. When I see Peeta wince, I realize it's the latter.

"Peeta, I am so glad you came to school with your friends. Now, where is that handsome Hawthorne boy? And Madge?"

Katniss throws me a dirty look when I laugh under my breath at the guy's enthusiasm. I hold out my hand politely, though. Old habits die hard. "You must be Mr. Mellark. I'm Johanna. It's nice to meet you."

The guy grabs my arm and reels me in for a hug. _Ah. Obviously a hugger._ He squeezes hard so that I also have to wince and I can't wait to watch Gale have to go through this treatment. "Johanna! So nice to meet you. You must be friends with my boy, Peet."

"Dad, she's Katniss's roommate." Peeta rubs the back of his neck.

This earns me another squeeze from Mr. Mellark. "Well, that makes you practically family. I'm Bran. It's short for Brandon, but it's better advertising for the bakery if you call me Bran. Get it?" He winks at me and those dimples flash blindingly.

Yep. I totally see where Peeta gets it.

I spy Madge and Finn talking with an attractive gentleman in a suit. I know the man doesn't belong to Finn because his Dad is friend my parents and wonder if he is related to Madge. Finn shakes his hand and I spy Gale watching the scene as well. His eyes meet mine and I raise an eyebrow at him, then motion him over.

It doesn't take long for Mr. Mellark to notice Gale coming our way.

"Hawthorne! He grabs Gale and hugs him as well. Gale winces. "You handsome rascal. Are you keeping the ladies in line?" Peeta's blush is back and Gale looks sheepish.

"Nice to see you again, Mr. Mellark."

"Oh, please. Why so formal? You're all adults now. Call me Bran. I can't wait to hear about your fraternity and the parties, and the girls…." Mr. Mellark nudges Gale on the ribs.

I don't so much hear them coming as feel a disturbance in the Force that is usually followed by sticky hands and much yelling. I'm not disappointed. I hear my name a scant second before I am hit from behind by a freight train that almost knocks me to the floor.

"Jo!" I hear three voices call out and the predictable follow up chastising from my Dad. The trio clinging to me pays him no mind as they half hug, half claw at me. I crouch down to their level. The oldest of the three, Charles, is starting to really sprout. Caleb, the youngest, smells of shampoo and peanut butter. I hold him close and breathe him in.

"Hey, you guys…I missed you! You being good?" I can't help but mess up their hair as I stand inside the circle. My Mom and Dad finally hug me as well and it's like one giant puppy pile that makes me want to cry a little.

I blink back emotion and introduce them around. Katniss seems like she's in awe of my Mom, who is very well put together at all times, even with three young boys. Her brown hair flows in a sheet to her shoulders and sways when she moves. Her skin is flawless and her eyes are huge pools of brown that make my Dad sing _Brown Eyed Girl._ In short, she looks like she should be on _Sex in the City. _She's a Marketing Vice President, so I think that has something to do with it: personal brand is important to her. My Dad is put together in his standard fare knit shirt and chinos. He's an 'SC alum and you can tell he is just so proud to be back on campus.

"How's my little girl?" He breathes quietly into my hair after hugging me gently. I blink harder to keep the tears at bay again, especially when I realize the pressure of being his _only_ little girl.

Fuck.

Madge walks over at that moment with Finn and we introduce them around too. My Mom is blinking rapidly at the aura of golden awesomeness that surrounds the two of them and I have to remind myself to explain that Madge and Finn aren't together when Mom asks me about them all later. Madge's Dad explains that her Mom couldn't make it because she's ill. He is a handsome man – not as handsome as Finn's often-absent-but-super-hot Dad – and he looks tired, especially compared to Mr. Mellark's vitality.

The gang is almost all together but I'm looking around the room anyway. I spy Brian in his Navy dress uniform looking handsome with an older couple in tow. He catches my eyes and nods to me cordially and my heart squeezes just a little at the fact that he's just as reticent as I am to introduce our families. It's almost enough to make me question what we do in the dark in his dorm room. Almost. Then I remember how his lips feel against mine and what his breathless pants sound like when he loses control and I shrug mentally: so what if he doesn't want to introduce us? It's not like I need a stamp of approval from them to do what we do together.

I keep scanning the room as the group talks about activities for the next two days. I'm not even sure what I'm looking for when my eyes come to rest on Brue who is standing next to a solid wall of a man. While Peeta's Dad is big in a stocky way, wider than tall with huge shoulders, the older gentleman next to Brue is both tall and wide, with wavy grayish reddish hair that forms a nimbus around his head like a lion's mane and a mustache and beard to complete the image. His plaid tie flaps as he gesticulates at both Brue and the petite brunette next to him. I catch Brue's eye and raise a brow. His crash together like he's annoyed that I am watching whatever it is that is unfolding between them and I smile at that fact.

Yeah, it's dumb. Just because I want to stick out my tongue at him doesn't mean I don't know I'm acting like a child.

Brue is obviously having an argument with the older man. I watch as his face turns a strange mottled red and his gaze flits to our little group. The older gentleman glances around the room and seems to see us. He glances at Brue, tucks the brunette's arm under the crook of his own, pats it gently with his own giant hand, then strides toward us. Brue has no other choice but to follow along. He gives a half-hearted wave to Peeta when the lion of a man stops at the outskirts of our little group.

"Are you gonna introduce us to yer friends, laddie? Or stand there like yer daft?" the lion says.

_Holy crap. The lion of a man has a brogue! And he's ragging on Brue._

I like him already.

_(A/N: For those of you who want to read more about the songs in this chapter, I will have links to them up on Tumblr at johannaismyspiritguide dot tumblr dot com.)_


	9. Dinner with Friends

_I do not own The Hunger Games._

_(A/N I'm re-ordering the chapters so that the K&P outtake appears after Chapter 6, since it was written as 6.5. Thank you, all for reading and reviewing that outtake. It was fun to write, but we're back to Jo's POV. Also, someone wanted a sex scene. There isn't necessarily one in this chapter, but we are building, I promise. Cali-Chan, we have more discussions of majors…)_

**_Dinner with Friends_**

We end up at the frat house for dinner that night, frankly because I can't take another minute of Charles, Christian and Caleb and I know there will be something for them to do there. At bare minimum, we can play basketball or video games, or foosball, or I-don't-give-a-fuck-as-long-as-they-shut-up. Peeta's helping his dad, my dad, and Madge's dad figure out the barbecue. Brue and the lion – who turns out to be his grandpa - have yet to make an appearance. My brothers are playing video games with Gale and Finn, who seem to have no lingering animosity over the Madge incident. I'm a little envious, really, of their easy camaraderie. My mom is presumably giving Katniss and Madge fashion advice or something.

At least, that's what I think they must be doing, until Mom calls me over and I discover they are talking about their majors. Madge is explaining that she's pre-dentistry. Did I know that? I know there are at least a few people who would love to be drilled by her, that's for sure. Katniss explains that she's studying psychology. I can tell that Mom assumes that it's due to a deep seated desire to help other people. I'm fairly certain, though, that it stems from her fucked up childhood.

"Jo? I'm still not clear why you're studying mechanical engineering. Why not something that gives you a broader background, or that leads you into helping people, like Katniss here?" Mom hasn't really understood my choice since I declared it. She thinks business would be more fitting. I know that the guys are all minoring in business as sort of a fall back if their majors don't work out. I don't want to do that. For me, it's all or nothing.

I shrug and roll my eyes. "I want to make a better vibrator. Isn't that helping people?" I see Madge bite her lip to keep from smiling.

"Jo…" Mom shakes her head. "I'm not sure where all of this sarcasm is coming from today." I hear the censure in her tone. I don't want to give her a hard time - it's not her fault that I wasn't exactly the real me while I was at home – it's just hard for me to put aside everything I'm becoming so I can toe the line for her and dad today. Hell, I'm just now starting to figure out who the real me _is_.

"I like math. I like to build things. It seemed like a natural match up." I really don't want to hear her tell me that I'm limiting myself or that I might not succeed. She should know by now that the quickest way to get me to do anything is to tell me not to do it.

Shocking, right?

She rubs a circle on the table with a perfectly manicured nail. "I'm glad classes are going well. You know I only want you to be happy, right? We've been worried about you for so long and you've made such good friends…"

I don't let her finish her _We Just Want What's Best speech._ I hop to my feet, ask if anyone else wants something from the kitchen, then make my escape.

"…Peeta here was the runt of the litter." Mr. Mellark has Peeta's head in a good-natured headlock.

Dad laughs incredulously. "I find that hard to believe. He's a big guy!"

"Yours will be big soon enough. Your oldest is twelve?" He finally releases Peeta, who shoots me a pained look. Like the weekend can't be over soon enough. _Amen, brother. _It makes me want to laugh at how pathetic we both are.

Dad looks in my direction. "My oldest is right here." He gets up to hug me; it's not like we're the world's most hugg-y family or anything, but I guess having me out of sight for four months has given him something to think about.

"I really wanted a girl." Mr. Mellark says wistfully. "Peeta was supposed to be our girl."

"Girls pose their own sets of challenges." Mr. Undersee says while he slices tomatoes.

Dad snorts. "Tell me about it. Jo here is a good kid. As a principal, though, I hear crazy stories all the time."

I narrow my eyes at Peeta. He looks like he wants to burst into laughter at the idea that my dad is a principal. He covers his brief laughter with a well-modulated, "Mr. Mason, Johanna is very circumspect. It's why we're friends." If his own dad hadn't just released him from a headlock, I might put him in one. Circumspect, my ass.

Brue, the lion and the dark haired lady walk through the door at just that moment. I know Peeta won't be able to resist bringing him up to speed. "Hey, Brue. I was just telling Jo's dad, who is a _principal_ by the way, what a good influence Jo here has been on all of us."

Brue's eyes dance. "Oh, she has totally been a paragon of virtue." _You guys suck._ I send them the message with my facial expression. Clearly, Brue gets it from the smirk he's wearing.

I try to change the subject. "Peeta, are you making those cheese buns again? I hope so. Dad, the Mellarks own a bakery and Peeta's cooking is legendary."

Peeta blushes and his Dad gives him a strange look. "Son, you made cheese buns?"

I throw my mind back to the barbecue and don't even let him answer. I'm bossy, alright? So sue me. "Yeah. We had burgers with some sort of onions and a spicy sauce on cheese buns. I can't remember the whole menu – I bet Everdeen does though – but he even made a chocolate cake for dessert. It was… it was probably the best meal I've ever had that wasn't a restaurant." Mr. Mellark's face has gone a little pale and his eyes are suddenly sad when he swings them to Peeta.

"Jo, help me take these outside. Mr. Undersee, are you manning the grill? We'll get it ready for you." Peeta asks. He avoids his dad's unspoken question.

We walk to the grill silently. Finally, I have to ask, "You ok, Peet?"

He gives a quiet laugh. "Yeah. I guess…it's just shocking, him being here. Like two parts of my life are colliding."

I snort. "At least your dad's not a freaking principal. Talk about the ultimate buzz kill. I barely needed birth control in high school, that's how much of a goody-goody I was." I give an exaggerated shudder.

Peeta laughs.

-o—

"Laddie, ye don't have a lassie? Ye got no game. That's yer problem." The lion of a man is pointing his scotch glass at Brue. He had scoffed at the offer of beer with dinner, explaining that Corona and Miller light were swill, not beer, and promptly pulled out two bottles of Glenfiddich. All of the dads have since switched to scotch and soda or scotch neat, while my mom and Brue's grandmother are drinking vodka and cranberry juice. We're a pretty festive group a couple of hours later.

"Grandda, it's not like any of us have one."

"Then all of ye lads need to be schooled. At yer age, ye should be searching for the right lass to complete ye. I was only twenty when I met my Elizabeth." The lion smiles warmly at his wife. I'm sure there is an epic love story there. I'm equally sure he would love to tell it. Brue, however, does not seem inclined to let him share.

Mr. Undersee, surprisingly chimes in, "I was twenty-one when Patricia and I met. I asked her if I could buy her a soda at a gas station." He stares at his drink, then smiles up at Madge like she and her mother were worth whatever he's been through in the twenty odd years since that day.

"When I was twenty I was sure I was going to marry Lucy Everdeen, Katniss's mom." Peeta's dad smiles at Katniss, who looks like she's about to spew beer out of her nose. "She left me, though. Ron Everdeen could sing and dance like nobody's business. I couldn't compete with that, so I found Kim." He walks over to my restless younger brothers and asks if they want to help him make dessert. When no one's a taker, he tells them that he's going to show them how to use power tools to decorate a cake.

Yeah. It's pretty obvious how he raised three young boys.

The lion thumps his ham hock sized hand on his thigh. "That's what I'm talking aboot. Dancing and singing is how ye woo her. Come on Elizabeth. Let's show these young fowk how it shuid be done."

For such a large man, he moves gracefully with his wife. I suppose they should move easily after years of being together. Still, he holds her reverently and the look he shoots her is so full of warmth and heat, so tender, that I fall a little bit in love with him.

And I don't even _like_ red heads.

Finn asks me to dance. Never one to be outdone by a senior citizen, he moves me around next to the older couple as we copy their steps. I have a new appreciation for the older man as Finn struggles to guide me around the floor. When the lion dips his wife, she laughingly swats at his shoulder. "Angus, stop showing off in front of the young people."

In a move that Finn should patent, he cuts in and I'm dancing with the lion. He winks at me and spins me around until I'm laughing and breathless. I notice my mom and dad also dancing, then Madge and her dad join us. Gale and Katniss share a look, then they too are dancing. Brue just stands and watches the whole thing like we are ridiculous.

"Lad, ye should go git yer keyboard and play. Since ye can't dance." Brue's grandpa is relentless and I love it.

"He plays?" It's out of my mouth before I realize I've said anything.

The lion laughs. "Of course. He comes from a long line of Highland musicians." He leans closer to me. "Poor lad is goin-ta waste his talent producing."

I'm having a great time, so I smile up at him. "Don't you think that's his decision – what he does with his life?"

The lion throws his head back and laughs and his whole body moves when he does. "Lass, ye have a lot of spunk. What are yer intentions toward my grandson?"

"Intentions?" I sputter, laughing. His candor takes me aback but it's refreshing all the same.

He nods.

"I don't have any intentions towards him." I can't help but sneak a look at where Brue is dutifully setting up a keyboard, his frown firmly in place.

He pats my shoulder with his giant hand. "Ah, lass. Yer lying to yerself. Now, I can see ye have spunk to spare and yer a bonnie lass to boot. Ye would be good for him. But if ye only want him for his body, ye should pass because that one feels things deeply and his heart's been broken afore."

I'm torn between the discomfort of talking to this man about sex and the insatiable curiosity about the state of Brue's heart. He must see the agony on my face because he laughs again. "I ken see I've tickled yer imagination. Ye'll have to ask him aboot it."

"You are a crafty old man, you know that?" I can't believe he's given me a mystery to solve, as if he knows I just can't resist it. It dawns on me that he knows me better after one night than my mom does.

"Lass, I've been called worse."

We laugh together before my dad cuts in.

-o—

"I can't believe Mr. Mellark and the boys sculpted a car out of cake. I'm sure they are going to drive my dad crazy because they suddenly think baking is cool." I'm laughing over what has turned out to be a great night.

Katniss laughs as well. "I can't believe how good it was. What was that? Lemon and custard filling? I could have eaten the whole thing." It turns out that Peeta's not the only Mellark who knows how to get Everdeen to eat. I wonder if that's how Mr. Mellark tried to woo Katniss's mom. "I almost wish we were all spending the day together tomorrow."

"Yeah." We're all doing our own separate things the next day. My family is taking Katniss with us to Universal Studios. I'm not sure what everyone else is doing. After the fun night we've spent, though, I echo her wish that we were all going somewhere together.

After dancing, Katniss had wowed everyone with her singing voice. Brue and Madge had played a keyboard duet and the lion had launched into some Highland song that had us clapping and stomping our feet. Brue had played _Just the Way You Are_ for my parents, who claim it's their song. Hearing him sing was eye-opening. Watching my parents get all cheesy as Brue sang it was an added bonus.

"Hey, Mason. Got a minute?" I hear a familiar voice from the open stairwell door behind us.

Katniss looks over my shoulder. "Hey, Brian. Looking good today. Jo, I'll see you later." She winks in my direction, knowing I may not end up in our room tonight.

I straighten my spine, conflicted. On the one hand, his voice alone makes my knees weak. On the other hand, it's already been a great night and I just want to go to bed. Alone. Then again, I think back to him in his dress uniform from earlier today and know I might be persuaded. My mind is made up when he moves very close to me.

Even though we're still not touching, I can feel every single inch of him behind me as he leans in close to my ear. "You look so amazing today, Johanna. I have to confess that what I have in mind may take more than a minute."

I shiver, wanting to lean into him but knowing that public displays of affection while he's in uniform are out of the question. "What did you have in mind?" I'm a little breathless.

"Follow me." He takes my hand and squeezes it gently, weaving our fingers together before letting go and striding toward the stairs. He is, not surprisingly, moving in the direction of his room and I follow him, almost bumping him when he stops suddenly.

"Ladies first," he motions me ahead of him, guiding me with a hand at the base of my spine that burns through the cotton of my sundress. I am suddenly very conscious of his eyes on the sway of my hips and the quiet of the stairwell and am very, very thankful we're only walking up one flight. We reach the landing and I pause to make some quip as I look over my shoulder before opening the door. When his hazel eyes flash and his jaw clenches, he looks quite like Josh Hutcherson in Journey 2: adorable in an intense way. I lose my thought completely when I realize how close to me he is. How intent. His hand closes over mine on the handle and pulls me around to face him until I'm back against the wall. His face descends toward mine fast enough that his light freckles move sharply into focus a matter of seconds before his lips close over mine.

It's hard to think after that: this is forbidden and entirely out of character for him. We're in a stairwell where anyone could discover us and Brian is in uniform. That means they'll take him to the stocks and throw tomatoes at him if we're discovered. (I've never been sure of the punishment, but he never, ever disgraces the uniform with public displays of affection. Never.) His lips cling to mine; I smell his soap and the starch of his shirt and I'm so turned on even without his hands touching me that I can't think. When his hands slide down my arms and entwine with mine, sliding and rubbing the soft flesh between my fingers, it has me gasping for breath.

He pulls back slightly, flashing the slight dimple he has in one cheek. "You should wear dresses more often. Come on." And he guides me gently down the hallway to his room.

-o-

"I am so sore." I groan and flop back into my bed. It's a good thing Brian and I have a _leave no visible marks_ rule or I'm pretty sure at least one of us would have a lot of explaining to do to our parents today. As it is, I'm wearing the longest pair of shorts I have in case his fingers or teeth left any evidence on my thighs.

Everdeen is already up, showered and dressed. "I have no sympathy."

I grin at her: I can't help it. "You shouldn't. If you even _knew _what he did to me last night…?" My legs are still boneless from being propped up on his desk while he worked me with his mouth and later…well, let's just say that I'm pretty sure his uniform will need to be dry cleaned before he can wear it again.

Katniss throws a pillow at my head as she laughs. "Jo! Shut up. Seriously. It's not fair that you get to have all the fun. Now get up and get dressed before I tell your dad about Brian and what he's doing to you."

I narrow my eyes because I wouldn't put it past her to take her payback in one big chunk, but I can't miss one last parting shot. "You know, if you would just jump Peeta already, you could have some fun too."

I hear her laughter and the thump of something hitting the door just as I escape to the shower.

-o—

I don't cry when my family leaves, knowing I will see them in a few weeks at Thanksgiving. To be honest, I'm so exhausted from all the funnel cake, cotton candy and fudge from Universal that I can barely see straight. The boys have also gone past having fun to just plain annoying and I can tell that even Katniss is ready to just collapse from all the rollercoasters and walking and eating.

Not to mention that I think I pulled a groin muscle last night. I wonder if this is what old people sex is like: do you have to think about how sore you are going to be the next day and does it just wreck the spontaneity of the moment? Because if this is how it is, then I am so totally making my position bucket list so I can get through them all before I'm twenty five.

We have a final reception on Sunday night after the families have left. I'm not sure why. All of us gather together in our exhaustion. I notice quite a few people look like they've been crying or and I wonder whose bright idea it was to plan something like this when we're all the walking dead. We all sit together: Katniss, Madge, Finn, Peeta, Gale, and I. Only Brue is a no-show.

There's a special speech from a faculty member and a poem about family from a Resident Advisor. I want to roll my eyes, but I try to remain respectful – as if the last day or two with my parents have rubbed off on me. Effie explains that she has surprises for all of us: it's tradition to ask each family to send a gift to their freshman, a token to keep with us for the rest of the semester and remind us of home.

She calls us up one by one and hands us various sized packages. Even those whose families didn't come have gifts, so the first one called up is Katniss who takes her box like she's in a daze. Hawthorne is next, then me. Finn and Peeta are called, then Madge. Brue's nowhere to be seen, nor is his name called, which his weird until someone says that student athletes have their own party. Of course. I see Brian, though, and he gives me a wink as he goes to get his package.

I wonder if his tongue is sore.

My friends are all ripping the wrapping paper off of their gifts. Undersee has a beautiful blue angora cardigan that will make her look like freaking Venus. Katniss looks thrilled with her _Hello Kitty_ pajamas, which are the ultimate birth control. At least they don't match her normal color palette, which is basically _Duck Dynasty_ meets _Marine Corps._ Gale's got a variety of kid paintings, presumably from his family. There're so many Hawthornes that, in my head, they're like the _old lady who lived in a shoe, _and it looks like every single kid did some sort of craft project just for him. There's also an old Motley Crue concert T-shirt which I'm sure must have belonged to his dad: it's awesomely vintage and Hawthorne touches it reverently. Finn laughs as he opens a card and pockets twenty bucks, explaining to us that his grandmother has sent him a birthday card and twenty dollars every single month since he came to school – like she's forgotten when his birthday actually _is _and is stuck on repeat. He doesn't even seem upset that there isn't a gift from his dad and I wonder, not for the first time, how much Finn even registers that he has a parent.

Peeta's reading the card that came with his gift bag and frowning.

I'm refusing to open my small box. I'm sure it's jewelry, which is just going to make me feel horrible. Finn finally prods me into pulling off the pink wrapping paper. I gingerly remove the lid and find a little note that reads, "I think you're through with princesses so I got you an engineer instead. Love you, Dad." Beneath the note is a chain with a small Tinker Bell charm decorated with Swarovski crystals. It's exactly the thing that would have made my sister envious enough that she would have begged for one too. Tinker Bell sparkles as I twist it in the light, making rainbows that reflect the tears I won't let fall.

_Fuck_.

I sniff.

I look up to see Katniss teasing Peeta, "Come on, Peeta, we all opened ours. Open it!"

Peeta flushes a little. _What the hell is in his bag?_ "Yeah, Peeta. What could possibly be in the bag that you can't open it in front of us?" I say, as I slide the lid back on Tinker Bell. I'll cry more later over the fact that my dad is finally showing support and accepting my major, even though it wouldn't be his choice for me.

"Nothing. It's just a joke from my brothers." He clutches the bag closer to his chest when Everdeen grabs for it.

She wrestles the card from where it sticks out of the top, clears her throat and starts to read, "Hey, runt. Hope you're studying hard. We're assigning you another subject you'll have to master if you want us to give you any respect. Enclosed is what we like to call the Mellark bible so that you can become an expert like we are." Katniss raises an eyebrow. "What did they send you?" She boldly reaches for the bag, which is wedged against his body.

Peeta overreacts and jerks the bag which spills the contents on the floor. It's like slow motion when Katniss leans down to pick it up: I can tell the second she can read the title because her eyes go wide and swivel back to Peeta's. The urge to giggle is just too much but I try to hold it in so I can see her reaction: it's as if the very thought of that book being read by one Peeta Mellark is going to make her spontaneously combust.

Because, my friends, the book is entitled: She Comes First: The Thinking Man's Guide to Pleasuring a Woman.

Finn comes to the rescue. "Cool. Hey, Peet. Can I borrow that? Maybe I want to study to be an honorary Mellark."

We all laugh and Peeta picks up the book to hand to Finn. "Go ahead, man."

"I promise I'll give it back after I've field-tested the techniques," Finn winks. I'll even put some notes in the margins. I'm all about helping a brother out."


	10. Help from Strange Places

_I do not own The Hunger Games._

_(A/N: Still no sex, sorry about that. As always you can check out the tumblr page for this fic: Johannaismyspiritguide dot tumblr dot com.)_

**Help from Strange Places**

_Everything is blue and I move slowly, languidly. Even though it's been years since I've done it, I realize I'm swimming and I'm tired, like I've been doing it for a while. For some reason, I'm annoyed at my sister - "Carys," I call, but it's in my head, not out loud. I know that she can't hear me. I tread water and move my arms, but the water is murky and I am not moving quickly. I'm frustrated and annoyed that I can't get to her and that she won't answer me, even though I know she's here somewhere. My clothes don't make it any easier, clinging to me and dragging me down, making me less buoyant. It dawns on me that it's weird that I am fully clothed and underwater. _

_A lighter spot appears as bright light filters through the water and it seems to glow with a pink light. Relief rushes through me bypassing the annoyance: I know I'll be with her soon. I kick my legs and ignore the burning in my lungs as I struggle to reach her. She isn't so much swimming away from me as floating, aimlessly moving in some sort of current. Her eyes are shut, her lips blue. It scares me. When I finally reach her, grabbing her arms with my hands, they are cold as ice. I fight to keep hold of her, knowing that I need to get both of us up, up out of the water to air. _

_Her eyes pop open. I open my mouth in a silent scream, feeling the water rush into it even as I recoil from her. I hear her voice echo in my head as her cold, blue lips say, "I hate you."_

I jolt awake. It takes me a minute to get my bearings and slow my heart rate: I'm in my dorm room. Everdeen is still asleep, her week-old Hello Kitty pajamas visible in the weak, yellow light filtering in from the streetlamps outside our window. I take a deep breath, then another, trying to clear the image of Carys, the cold, slippery feel of her hands in mine.

I shudder and do the only thing that I can think of, the only word that keeps repeating in my head. _Run, _it says, as it has every single night this week. So I pull on socks and sneakers, a sports bra, a tank top and shorts. I grab my key card and cell phone, headphones and armband from my dresser. The door clicks behind me quietly.

Rock music blares in my ears as my feet strike a rhythm on the pavement. I don't bother warming up and start with a pace designed to make me concentrate solely on putting one foot in front of the other. There is nothing else: no nightmares, no little sisters, no tears or crushing guilt, just the sounds of my heart beating and breath whooshing in and out.

This is the fourth night in a row that I've had the nightmare. The first night, it woke Katniss, who tried to get me to talk through whatever was bothering me. Yeah. Like that was going to happen. The second, it woke Brian. I was able to distract him from asking me about it with a different sort of exhaustion. The third night I discovered that, if I exhausted myself before bed, I wouldn't wake up screaming.

But I still woke up.

I circle campus once, twice, then three and four times until the burning in my legs and lungs is a steady thing and my body barely feels like my own. I veer onto campus - a new path – deciding that I am tired enough to do one more circuit then head back to the dorm. With any luck, that will put me back in bed before three. I can sleep in tomorrow, since it's Saturday and I am looking forward to that after a week of sleepless nights.

I'm not really paying attention. My feet are still slapping on the pavement and _Lunatic Fringe_ is echoing through my ears as I run through a mostly unlit Music School quad. It's doesn't occur on me to be afraid until a hand shoots out and grabs my arm. Suddenly, I'm fighting like a hellcat, adrenaline pumping through me.

"Jo! Hey! Jo! Stop it!" The hand that grabbed me has turned into two arms that are holding me while I thrash until I finally recognize who it is.

_Of course it would be him._

"Jo, what's going on? Are you ok?" It almost sounds like there's real concern in Brue's voice.

I push his hands off. "Why wouldn't I be okay?"

He laughs wryly. "I don't know. Maybe because it's almost two in the morning, you're running like demons are chasing you and are mostly unclothed?"

"You're the campus police now? I'm fine. What are you doing out here?" Even I can hear the petulance in my voice. I wince. God, I'm a bitch.

He thrusts his hands into his pockets. "Just working on an assignment for music. I can't get it right." He shrugs and looks away uncomfortably, like admitting a weakness to me is something he doesn't want to do. His eyes come back to assess me, "You sure you're ok?"

When I nod, he surprises me by saying, "I was just going to go grab a doughnut. Want to join me?"

I'm even more surprised when I hear myself say yes.

-o-

Brue escorts me to his car – a BMW, of course. He is surprising solicitous, especially given my mono-syllabic responses.

"Nice car." I say begrudgingly.

"Thanks. It was a graduation gift from my dad."

I slide into the leather interior, wondering if my sweat will stain it. The whole car is neat, clean and smells like Brue: a mix of chlorine and guy. And I don't mean that in a bad way. He waits until I'm belted up before starting the car. I'm surprised when there's no music playing as I was pretty sure he would listen to something epic. The silence descends as we go the 2 blocks to Figueroa. I'm pretty sure it's going to be the longest two blocks of my life.

"You made quite an impression on my grandda the other night. He can't stop talking about you."

"Oh? What does he have to say?" I recover from the jolt that runs through me when he starts talking. He's using a low voice, quiet. Rumbly. I can't tell if it's the close confines of the car, the late hour, or the fact that we are alone that makes me tremble a little. Hell, for all I know it's the remnants of the dream making me emotional.

Brue thinks for a minute, his hands tapping lightly on the steering wheel; he has artist hands with long, capable fingers. "Let's see… _Lass has spunk to spare! She's a sharp one, that Jo. She's wuirth ye gettin' to know her…_ What did you do, slip something in his drink?"

I laugh to cover the sting I've come to associate with Brue and his opinions. Plus, the thought of me slipping Special K into the Lion's scotch is freaking hysterical. Brue does a great impression of his grandpa's brogue – somewhere between Sean Connery and Gerard Butler, so I hone in on that. "Maybe I told him that haggis is my favorite food…and that's a great brogue you've got there. You should use it to pick up chicks since otherwise _ye've got no game._" I do my best to capture the lilting speech of the lion from a week ago.

He laughs suddenly, head thrown back, the strong column of his neck fascinating in the light from the parking lot. His teeth flash and I am once again transfixed by how attractive he is when he smiles.

"_Come on, then, lass. Let's get ye a doughnut to soothe your ills." _He teases. I love it.

We get our doughnuts and slide into bright orange plastic chairs. I must look a little strange in my sweaty fitness gear this late at night because I notice a cop looking over at our table. I smile at him in case he thinks something is wrong and he immediately goes back to his own snack. A wave of fatigue hits me as I pick up a doughnut, like smiling for the cop was way too much effort, and I gingerly put the doughnut back on the napkin.

"Jo? You ok?" Brue is concerned.

"Yeah, fine, I guess. Not hungry. You want mine?" I pass it over to him without a thought.

"Seriously. You just gave up a doughnut? You are not ok. You're supposed to be the _lass with hearty appetites._" He puts on the brogue. "What's going on?" He licks his fingers and frowns at me when I am distracted by the tip of his tongue. "Jo? Earth to Jo… You're running in the middle of the night like Leatherface himself is chasing you and now you're being all weird. Quiet. It's not like you."

I shrug, pulling my knees up to my chest and already feeling the soreness in my calves and thighs setting in: maybe I pushed it a little bit too hard. "I had a nightmare. I couldn't sleep." I shudder again at the mental picture of Carys's hair floating in the murky water; her oddly glowing pale skin and her blue, blue lips.

"Want to talk about it? I'm a good listener." He finishes my doughnut and clasps his hands on the table, patiently waiting.

And now I'm angry. I don't _want_ to talk. "God, why does everyone want me to talk? It won't bring her back. If you think this is where I need your pity or want to confide all my bullshit to you, you're wrong. If I wanted to cry, I would have stayed in my dorm room." I'm afraid I'll crack apart. Because the soreness I feel in my legs is nothing compared to the soreness in my heart.

Brue stares at me heavily and I swear I can almost hear the click that happens when he associates the picture on my keychain and the "her" in my little tantrum. I get ready for the inquisition that I know is coming when he does perhaps the most surprising thing yet: he relaxes completely and leans back in his chair. His eyes don't change. There's not one ounce of the pity I expect there and he doesn't start asking me how I freaking _feel_, which is probably the only thing he has done _right_ the entire time we've known each other.

"So, judging from the dark circles under your eyes, you're probably not going to sleep tonight, right?" There's almost no emotion in his voice. No judgement. It's like he's reciting the weather.

It makes it easy to answer. "No. Probably not." I sigh.

"Well, feel like helping me out? I've got a music assignment that is kicking my ass. And music's just one of the topics on which you have no shortage of opinions."

I gape at him: he must be kidding. He wants me to _help_ him? We're barely friends and he can't stand my opinions. The truth is, though, I don't want to go back to my dorm and lay in the darkness waiting for sunrise. I would rather gnaw off my left arm than do that, which is why I'm seriously considering his offer.

"Ok. But we're going to need some more doughnuts."

"Deal." He holds out his hand and I take it.

-o—

I jolt awake, totally disoriented. _Where the hell am I?_ I sit up in the papasan chair and look around. The movement makes the headphones I'm wearing clatter to the ground next to the blanket someone's placed over me. Holy crap. I'm in Brue's room. And from the light coming in from the window, it's got to be mid-morning. Fuck. Everdeen is probably freaking out.

I hazily recall that we had gotten to the frat house and argued about Brue's assignment for at least a couple of hours. I told him that he was obviously trying to rip off David Guetta. He added a few more elements with a frown and I asked him if he was going for arena rock or dance. He quipped that those two things really weren't that different, especially with groups like Swedish House Mafia on the scene.

He had a point there, come to think of it.

So we argued about things like whether the Rolling Stones or Aerosmith are the greatest rock band of all time and even laughed together over what our parents consider music (_George Michael? MC Hammer? Really?)_, hyped up on doughnuts and waters from his micro-fridge. When I finally laid back on the papasan and listened to a mellow playlist, I must have fallen asleep. Which means Brue took off my shoes and covered me. Like he cared.

Which is weird, in a my-stomach-flutters-a-teeny-bit-I-won't-lie sort of way.

I reach for my phone, which is charging on Brue's phone charger, text Everdeen that I'm at the frat and then look around like the nosy chick I am. His Mac is open on his desk and there are papers cluttering the surface like a tornado hit it but otherwise the space is remarkably neat and clean. He's got a fair amount of artwork on his walls – all framed, no push-pins or questionable sem-porn pin-ups for Brue – and the color scheme of the entire room seems to be dark gray and burgundy. If I recall, even his car was burgundy. I lean back in the chair and idly wonder if his underwear is also the same color scheme, but the picture it conjures of a shirtless Brue slowly peeling his pants off is so erotic that I cover my face.

His bed is tousled, unmade, like he left it in a hurry. I didn't hear him get up and it's oddly sweet that he left me asleep in his room, alone. Like he trusts me. We might be a far cry from making any of the fantasies I have about him a reality, but we are at least becoming…friends.

I wonder if I'm supposed to hang out or head back to the dorm. After all, this isn't a walk of shame, so what's the etiquette for this? I pick up the headphones and go to place them on his desk when I see a handwritten note on top of his laptop. The single word written in boldly masculine cursive makes my heart stop and then race to catch up.

_Stay. _

Fuck. I am in so much trouble.

-o—

I wander down to the kitchen when I smell something fried and yummy to find Everdeen already there. She shrugs and explains her presence with the words _bacon emergency_. I'm not sure what that means, but whatever it is, it smells like hog heaven.

Get it?

Peeta is frowning darkly. His hair is mussed and he has smudges of flour on his cheeks and forehead. He is hovering over a deep fryer and has a giant bowl of something that he periodically stirs while he mutters to himself. He is wearing flannel pajama bottoms and a white t-shirt with an apron over it and he looks a bit like a mad scientist.

I jerk my thumb toward him and whisper to Katniss, "What's up with him?"

She whispers back, "I don't know. I got this text from him that just asked if I could bring 3 pounds of bacon to the frat house as soon as possible. That was a couple of hours ago. Frankly, I'm afraid to interrupt him. He looks a little…preoccupied."

"Ever seen him like this?" I ask. If anyone's got the inside scoop into what makes our bread boy tick, it's Everdeen.

She shakes her head. "I've never been around him when he's actually baking before. Oh, and by the way, what are you doing here?"

It's my turn to shrug. "I ran into Brue last night. He needed help with something." She raises her eyebrow. I finally get what she's implying and I can actually feel heat in my face. Fuck. When was the last time I blushed? "No, not that kind of help Everdeen." At the sight of her pursed lips, I reiterate, "Seriously."

And of course Brue walks in. Of course. It's like he has Jo-embarrassment-radar. Like Jo-P-S.

"Hey, Peet. Ladies. What's going on?" He's toweling off his hair, presumably from some early morning practice. I can smell the chlorine mingling with the smell of bacon and whatever else it is that Peeta is frying. He looks from the two of us huddled at the table to Peeta and back again as if trying to solve the mystery of why it's so quiet.

Peeta mumbles something and pops one of the glaze-drizzled, deep fried things into his mouth. He munches thoughtfully, nods, plates a half dozen and brings them to the table. Before I can reach for one, though, he moves it out of my grasp. "Does anyone know who brought _those_ into my kitchen?" He points at the Spudnuts box that is conspicuously on the counter.

I slowly raise my hand. "Um, it was me."

Blue eyes as sharp as lasers turn my way. "You bought _store bought_ doughnuts into my home?" He utters those words like they are the worst epithet.

"I'm sorry? I wasn't thinking?" He's seriously offended. "Would it help if I said that I just needed a small hit of something to take the edge off?" My hand inches toward the plate of whatever it is that smells so good. He's still holding it away from me. Like my judgment is in question because I brought boxed pastry here.

"Yeah, Peeta. Jo was in bad shape last night. Give her a break." Brue sticks up for me. I shoot him a smile.

Peeta's eyes narrow, still fixated on me. "You need a fix, you come to me directly. None of this second rate stuff. Right? You're gonna eat stuff like that, you don't do it anywhere near my home. We clear?"

I try to keep the laughter out of my voice. "I'm…I'm sorry. Peeta, it won't happen again."

He slides the plate toward me and I scoop up one of the still warm pastries to take a bite. It's like taking a bite of autumn: it's a perfect balance of sweet glaze, cinnamon heat, chunks of tart and chewy apple, and an underlying smoky flavor that can only come from bacon. The flavors meld together on my tongue until I want to do is stack the pastries and jump in the middle of them like I would a pile of leaves.

"What are these?" I hear Brue ask. "They're incredible."

_Who cares? _ I think. I don't care what he calls them, as long as he keeps making them. The kid's not a Bun Bacchus. He's a fucking Fritter Phenom.

"Just one of the things that I can keep coming, as long as you don't insult me with _that_." He jerks his head toward the box on the counter.

"Yeah, we get that. Jo swears it won't happen again." Everdeen says.

"In that case, I've had this idea for a while now. That's a Bacon Apple Fritter." He smiles, all traces of his earlier mad-scientist gone. He looks pretty pleased with himself, as well he should.

"You made this recipe _up_?" Everdeen looks shocked, like Peeta just announced he has an elephant cock.

I can feel my arteries hardening as I eat and I just don't care. I don't care how many laps it's going to take to work off: these are better than crack. I'm pretty sure that cops everywhere would jizz at the mere thought of this pastry. Hell, I'm pretty sure that even his frat brothers will go into a fritter frenzy. They'll have to fight me for them, though, because I'm not about to have only one.

When I've eaten my fill and taken another for the walk back to campus, Peeta chases me out the door, holding the box of Spudnuts like it's a dead animal. "Jo, wait up… You look lousy. Are things that bad?"

"Thanks, Peeta." I smack him on the shoulder. _Way to give a girl confidence. _He shoves the box into my hands.

He pulls off his apron. "I'm being serious. Give me your phone."

Like an idiot, I fish it out of my pocket and hand it to him. "What are you doing?" _Duh. He's putting a phone number into your phone, Mason. What are you, fucking blonde?_

"Putting the number for my therapist in your phone. You should call him." He offers the phone back to me and I take it like it might sting. "He's a good guy."

"I don't want to re-live it." It spills out of me in a quiet rush.

Peeta frowns. "Yeah. I get that. But running is worse. You can't run from who you are forever, Jo. Just think about it."

"If I call him, I can bring Spudnuts into the frat again?" I wink at him, trying to make a deal.

"No. No you may not. They show up again, and you're uninvited from Tuesday dinners."

I hiss and grab my heart like I'm mortally wounded, tuck the box under one arm and back to the dorm.


	11. Tongue Tied

_I do not own The Hunger Games._

_(A/N: This chapter is M for a reason: it contains references to bondage. If that sort of content bothers you, scroll until about one thousand words from the end.)_

**Tongue Tied**

I'm coming back from class when I get a text from Brian. "Thanks for the gift," it says.

Gift? What gift?

Oh, fuck. _That _gift. After the night when Finn read Fifty Shades of Grey, I was inspired to order something special for Brian. Something that I was sure, at the time, was going to be an amazing pick-me-up to bring us closer before we both left for Thanksgiving break. Except now I'm not sure of him, or us, or my kinky little gift. _Damn the internet_ for making it way too easy to get carried away.

I have to write something, so I tell him that I'm glad he likes it. He tells me that he has something special planned and asks if I would like to have dinner with him tonight. And I would. Except tonight is Tuesday, and that's dinner with the gang night at the frat house. I don't want to miss it. I ask if we can do a rain check because it's Tuesday and I have plans.

I can tell he's annoyed so I backpedal. After all, he is my boyfriend and he just asked me on a date, which is something we don't _do._ I should at least sound grateful and make an effort, so I tell him I'll skip and we can get together. I'm slightly annoyed when he texts, "Good, because it's all arranged. Oh, and Jo? Wear a dress. See you at my room at 7." Like he just assumed that my plans didn't matter and his would trump mine no-matter-what.

I push the annoyance aside for two reasons: one, I'm curious where we're going all dressed up and two, exactly what are we going to do with the handcuffs that I sent him?

-o—

Katniss looks at me like I'm nuts when I tell her that I'm skipping out on dinner at the frat. "But we're having herb baked chicken, mashed potatoes, and green beans, with poached pears and ice cream for dessert!"

Yeah. Again with memorizing the menu… "Look, I don't want to miss dinner; I'm sure it's going to be fantastic. But Brian asked me out." I calmly explain as I do my makeup. Hey. If I'm putting on a dress, I've got to put on the face armor to go with it.

"_Out_? Or are you both just _eating in." _Katniss hurls at my head. I'm pretty sure that if her words were arrows she would have hit me dead in the eye.

I shrug, casually deflecting the innuendo. "You know you're just jealous either way." I stick my tongue out at her. "He said to wear a dress, so we must be going out. Look, I don't want to miss it. This is a big deal for me, ok?"

"Yeah. You guys haven't broken up in…what is it… a full month now? Maybe he's taking you out because this is a record. What about Brue?" Katniss crosses her arms across her chest as she watches me get dressed.

Yeah. What about him? I don't want to think about Brian and Brue - they inhabit different parts of my life. Brue and I have been running ten miles a day for a couple of weeks now – ever since the day after my nightmare when he showed up in running clothes. We run without discussing why we run and we barely talk at all, except when I push us harder and farther. That's when we argue over the punishing pace I set in order to find the quiet release I need right now. Sometimes Peeta joins us and his heavy footfalls sound louder than the music I listen to.

"Brue is just a friend." I rifle through my closet so she can't see my face.

"Just a friend? You guys have been spending hours together every day. That seems a little…intense…even for you. What do I tell him when he asks where you are?"

"He won't ask. And if he does, just let Finn cover with some sort of quip." I push to the back of my closet. I've only got a couple of dresses here: there's the sundress I wore when my parents were here and one other in royal blue with tiny little shoulder straps and a flared, float-y skirt. I feel like a flamenco dancer in it and it's always been really tight, so I don't generally wear it. I'm not even sure why it ended up here with me at school, to be honest. So, when I slide the dress on doubtfully thinking that I'll look like a _Dirty Dancing_ reject, I'm pleasantly surprised when it fits.

"How do I look?" If I'm gonna give up an amazing dinner at the frat house, I want tonight to be nice. Perfect, even.

"Nice. If I didn't know any better, I would say that you look like a lady." Katniss says pointedly. "You get that friendship is more important than sex, right?"

"…Says the girl who doesn't get laid." I say and slide black, sling-back heels on. When I'm fully dressed and ready to leave the room, I shoot her a grin. "Bring me back some dessert?"

"Not a chance." She says sourly.

-o-

I'm right on time when I knock on Brian's door. I feel really conspicuous standing in a dorm hallway all dressed up on a weeknight, especially when several guys wink at me and wish me a good night. Exactly how many fucking people know about whatever it is that he has planned?

The door opens just wide enough for me to notice that the room behind him is dark and that he looks amazing in a gray suit with matching tie. His hazel eyes sparkle when they meet mine and especially when they drop to the dress that I'm rocking.

I smile even though I'm suddenly nervous. "Ready?"

"I am." He nods. He swings the door open wider and I spy what he's done to his room.

He's transformed it into a romantic wonderland: twinkle lights edge the bed and there are flameless candles everywhere casting a soft glow. A table with a cloth on it sits in the center of the room and there are real plates and silverware, and even an open bottle of red wine and stemware. A low bowl of roses sits in the center of the table between two more candles. The whole scene just says "romantic set up" and it makes my heart melt a little bit.

"Wow." I breathe as I lean over to smell the roses. "This looks amazing."

"So do you. You should only ever wear dresses." His voice is low. Intimate. Even though we're not touching, I can practically feel little fingers of heat running up my spine. "Have a seat."

"No kiss?" I want him to touch me. The romance of the scene, the fact that he's put all of this together for me and the fact that I know there is a box somewhere with handcuffs in it are already turning me on and I can feel my thighs clench.

"Not yet. I'll serve the appetizers and pour the wine." He holds my chair out for me and walks to the loft area under his bed which has a sheet hung around it. Normally, it's his desk, but it seems like it's an impromptu kitchen area tonight. Some sort of instrumental music begins to play softly and a minute or two later, he returns with a crudité tray of vegetables and a spicy/sweet honey mustard dip. A small tray of crunchy sourdough bread sticks comes next.

He sits across from me and picks up his own glass of wine for a toast, "Tonight is all about you, Johanna. Here's to a great night." I'm suddenly shy as his heated gaze meets mine and I sip my wine. I'm not a huge fan of red wine, especially because this one is sharp and dark and spicy. Not sweet at all.

Sort of the way I feel.

What I really want is ice water to drink and to hold against my throat and between thighs. I can already feel small beads of perspiration forming as the word _Handcuffs!_ repeats in my head in time with my heart, and all of my pulse points to throb. I know ice is at a premium, though, since it can't be made in the micro-fridges we all have. I gulp my wine, instead.

I can't tell you what we eat, just that I have a fleeting impression of a microwave meal served piping hot and some sort of forgettable chocolate lava cake for dessert. The food's not the point of this meal, though. It's foreplay. By the time dinner and dessert are over, I'm a little drunk and a little desperate for him to touch me, which he seems to be studiously avoiding. And I'm not sure what is making me squirm more: the effort he put into the set up, his distance, or what I know is yet to come.

Somewhere during the meal he's removed his jacket and rolled up his shirt sleeves. I find my eyes drawn to his fingers, especially when they stroke the rim of his wine glass. I'm sure I'm blushing because I want those hands on _me._ I must say the words out loud because he laughs and then winks at me, telling me to relax and finish my wine while he clears the table.

And he does. The entire table gets cleared then folded up, making a little space in the middle of the room. He turns the music up and asks me if I want to dance. And I do. I suddenly get why the lion kept talking about dancing being a big deal: it means that I get to feel his hands on me and our bodies moving together. I crave that right now. I wonder if he'll kiss me and how he'll taste. I'm acting like this is our first time together but I can't seem to stop my mind from wandering into a thousand different directions at once.

I wonder how tipsy I am when I stumble in my heels. Brian's arms come around me to steady me and I gasp at the contact of his hands on my shoulders, especially when they slide lower to rest on my waist. We sway to the music, our bodies staying a full six inches apart. I refuse – absolutely refuse – to rub myself up against him. If he can restrain himself, so can I.

When I stumble again, I giggle. "Maybe I should take off my heels." Brian's not incredibly tall, so it's not like I really need them.

"Let me help you." He guides me over to a chair and I sit, closing my eyes. His hands close on my calf and knead a little before sliding down to the ankle strap of my shoe. I can feel the tug of his fingers and then he slides my foot out of the shoe, cupping and massaging the sole of my foot before moving to the other shoe. His hands feel impossibly good: they are warm and deft as they apply pressure to my instep.

"You painted your toenails." He sounds surprised.

"Of course." I don't think I need to explain to him that I never do anything halfway. He should know that by now. I wiggle my toes and he laughs quietly.

"They're adorable. You're adorable. Thank you for tonight." He casually runs a hand up my calf and squeezes lightly. I melt just a little more in anticipation.

I swallow when he kneels in front of me and leans forward until our foreheads touch. I'm already having trouble drawing breath into my lungs and I swear it's gotten ten degrees hotter in the last thirty seconds. I'm staring at his lips and the little cleft in his chin, knowing I should thank him too – for dinner, for the elaborate plans, for not freaking out when I sent him handcuffs – but _I'm_ sort of freaking out at the slow seduction. I'm not good with slow.

So when he leans forward with his eyes still open and traces my bottom lip with the tip of his tongue, I lean in to deepen the kiss. I want more. I run my hands up his tie and around his neck, stroking his earlobes in a way I know will drive him crazy while my tongue chases his. I am greedy, demanding.

He doesn't seem to mind.

His hands find the zipper on the side of my dress and I feel a bit of cool air while his fingers work their magic, first on the dress, then on me. The fabric slides down to my waist and he tugs me to my feet, breaking the kiss, to let it pool at my feet.

"A thong, Jo?" His voice is husky. He kneels in front of me with his hands braced on my thighs, face to face with the smallest pair of underwear I own. He knows I'm partial to boy shorts because they are comfortable. The only reason I even have this tiny scrap of lace is because I bought it on a dare from Finn.

I clear my throat. "It seemed like a special occasion."

He gives an insistent tug on my hips to pull me toward him. He kisses my belly button, swirling it with his tongue while he palms my butt. I push my fingers into his short, dark hair, running my fingers through the softness while he traces shapes with his nose and lips on my skin. I feel warm and wet and full of want.

The need to feel his skin on mine is overwhelming so I tug him to his feet. I almost garrote him with his tie and giggle a little when he has to untangle himself from it. I can handle the shirt buttons, though, and his shirt gives way. While he pulls his t-shirt over his head, I work on his waistband and he makes short work of everything else but his boxer briefs. When he's as naked as I am, I slide my hands across his chest and around his neck until we're touching from shoulder to thigh. I sigh and rub a little so the friction of his chest hair tickles me while he flexes his hands on my hips.

"Bed?" He asks softly. I nod and move to take off my underwear.

"No." His voice is a little harsher. "Leave them on."

Well. That's new.

I climb up onto the loft, aware of his eyes lingering. I'm not overly happy about whatever I'm sure the view is, but I cheerfully decide to let it go in favor of what is in store for us next. I notice the strewn rose petals on the sheets and stop myself from brushing them off. Am I supposed to lay down on top of them? I wish I could have googled this on my phone…I feel a little out of my element and it makes me giggly in a nervous sort of way.

I lay down and close my eyes, vaguely aware of the warmth of the room and the fact that the bed feels like it's moving. I feel like I'm floating, not really in control of my body as I listen to Brian climb up on the bed accompanied by a clinking sound that can only be the handcuffs. I turn my face away from him toward the wall, suddenly embarrassed by the gift. Maybe I'm embarrassed by how badly I want to give up control: how turned on I am to lose myself in him.

Fuck. No wonder Everdeen's reading that book.

He kisses my neck, nuzzling that spot that makes me sigh. When I turn back toward him, he says breathlessly, "Jo. Open your eyes?" He's tracing lightly over my nipple and it's so distracting that I almost don't hear him, until he stops and my eyes pop open. Brian is leaning on one arm watching me. I'm pretty used to this sight: he likes to watch while he gets me worked up, but tonight seems different. Like he wants me to watch him watch me.

Confused yet?

He lowers his head and the suction of his lips around my nipple has me squirming against him. I realize he's naked and am not sure if it's that or the incessant tugging of his mouth and tongue that revs me up like I'm a Nascar driver hitting the gas after a caution flag.

"Are you really going to let me cuff you?" His voice is a little nervous. A little hopeful. I'm arrested by how dark his pupils are and how his hand is lazily tracing the lace of my thong.

I nod and watch his eyes widen. I raise my arms toward him and he runs his hands down to my wrists, tugging them over our heads. I feel the metal loosely cuff one wrist, then the other. "You have the keys, right?" It's my turn to be nervous.

His grin flashes white in the flickering darkness of the candles and twinkle lights, but his eyes are dark and full of want now that I'm a willing captive. "How attached are you to these underwear?" He fiddles with them for a moment, eyes not quite meeting mine.

"They're not a favorite. Why?" I can feel my heart racing at the new sensation of metal against my wrists and the knowledge that he can do anything with those hands and I'm helpless.

"Because I might have to rip them off you later." He grins again, but it's a feral look; one I've not seen on him before and it gets my pulse racing even faster. His mouth dips back to my breast in a leisurely exploration. If anything, the pace he's setting is slower and more deliberate than normal. It doesn't take long before I'm writhing with the need for him to touch more of me. The clinking of the cuffs against the bedframe are a counterpoint to my intake of breath as I realize that I cannot touch him and have to wait patiently for his next move.

And I want to touch him.

I strain a little bit at the cuffs as he traces a hand slowly across my hip to my inner thigh, stopping just short of where I want it. I quiet as I wait for his next move, muscles taut. He slides the thong aside as he moves to lie between my legs and pushes them wide. I feel exposed. I can't tell if it's because I'm still wearing underwear or because of my bound hands, or maybe the fact that I can tell he's staring at me with all of the interest a guy would pay to a Georgia O'Keefe, but I can't get over how intimate this feels.

His thumbs part me and his tongue moves of-so-slowly over me. I hiss because it's so very tantalizing, like small licks of an ice cream cone. Brian likes to take his time but I'm usually one to rush things: I realize, very belatedly, that there will be no rushing things tonight. His tongue moves in the slow circles that he knows will drive me wild and my hips try to move him faster and closer. I want him to take me wider and deeper and make me wetter but I have no way to coax him to do that except with my hips and the cries that I normally don't utter. Things like _more_ and _yes_ and _please_.

It sounds suspiciously like begging. But I don't care.

I can hear myself half-sobbing as my hips undulate, but he's still holding back, keeping me from the one thing I need right now: I want him inside of me and I can't stand it anymore, I'm coiled so tightly.

"Please. Please, I need you inside of me." I whisper. I arch against the bed as I beg. I'm rewarded when I feel him withdraw from me and slide up my body but I dare not hope, not even when I feel the very tip of him slide against me in a way that has tremors already starting.

"Jo." He says. "Jo, look at me."

I'm so close, teetering on the edge, really, and fixated on that part of him that's rubbing so deliciously. It's not until he stops moving that I pry my eyelids apart to meet his gaze. He's got a bead of sweat dripping down his nose, making a path to the constellation of freckles on his cheeks that never cease to fascinate me. His hair is spiky and he's breathing hard. I wriggle against him seeking more friction as the very sight of him aroused makes me even crazier.

He grabs the edge of my thong hard enough that it cuts into my hip and stops me from moving. I stare at him understanding that this is some sort of pivotal moment for us.

He swallows hard. "Jo, I love you." His voice is vulnerable, like he's the one handcuffed.

I know that my eyes must go wide. He's staring at me in a way that tells me that he's expecting something in response. He's even anticipating it, because I feel his hips sliding deliciously along mine, rubbing him against me and poising for what I truly want. I arch toward it even as I know that I'm not getting away from answering him.

My body seems to be answering enough for both of us.

I shiver and he takes it as me being overcome with emotion. He looks at me tenderly and runs a hand along my face, leaning down to kiss my lips. Still, his hips don't move. So I say the only thing I can think of, the only thing that will get us both what we want right at that moment. With his lips lingering against mine, I whisper a lie back to him. He leans his forehead against mine as he sinks himself inside me.

I come apart before he's even fully _there_, shattering around him as I say it again against his lips.

"I love you."

-o—

I awaken with a jolt, mouth dry and head throbbing. _Where am I?_ I blink groggily. It slowly comes back to me: dinner, wine, handcuffs, _I love you,_ the whole thing. I groan quietly and I ease myself out of Brian's bed, fumbling in the dark for my dress and shoes. I feel the overwhelming need to get the hell out of here and figure out what happened.

I sneak down the hallway and stairs. Pausing at the door to my dorm room to unlock it, I drop my keys. _Fuck_. This is just not my night.

"Jo?" The stage whisper comes at me from down the hall and I freeze, honing in on the noise.

"Finn? What are you doing here?" I whisper back.

He rubs a hand through his blonde hair and I realize how tired he looks. He should: it's got to be three in the morning. He's obviously not here to see me, based on the fact that he looks to have come from one of the rooms at the end of the hallway.

"Did you get kicked out of someone's room again?" I chastise him with a smile on my face. Good 'ole Finn, always so predictable with the ladies.

"No. Well, yeah. But it wasn't like that." The customary Finn Odair smoothness is nowhere to be found and he even looks like he's blushing. I can't help but gape at him. What. The. Fuck? Finn is so smooth that we used to call him _Mr. Silky _in high school. And it wasn't for his hardwood floors. "Can I…can I crash at your place? Maybe we can grab breakfast in the morning?"

I nod. Finn and I are so used to hanging out together that sleepovers with him are no big deal. I'm not entirely certain that Katniss won't mind, but I'm willing to risk it. I want a friend there for me tonight. One I trust.

So we get ready for bed, me putting on the pajamas I strategically lay on my pillow so I can always find them in the dark, Finn putting on a pair of sweatpants and losing his shirt. We climb into bed and lay next to each other.

"Finn," I whisper into the dark, "Would you ever…lie… and tell someone you loved them if you don't think you do?"

His answer echoes what I know to be true about him: Finn may be a lot of things, but he doesn't lie or lead women on. "No. I've never said those words to a girl."

I make a frustrated noise in my throat. "How do you know? What if I'm in love and don't know it?" Maybe I didn't lie. Maybe I just don't know that I'm in love yet. _Yeah, Mason. And pigs fly._

Finn sounds more thoughtful that I've ever heard him when he says, "I think, when you love someone, you know. If you didn't immediately think yes, then you don't yet. It doesn't mean there isn't hope and you can't fall in love later."

Something in his tone makes me roll toward him and forget my own conundrum for a minute. "Finn, are you ok?"

He laughs lightly. It's not his practiced laugh, but one full of depth, like he's more present and _real_ than he's been in a while. "Yeah. Yeah, Jo. Go to sleep. We'll talk more in the morning."

-o—

Katniss is aghast when she wakes up to find both me and Finn in my bed. We're completely platonic, that much is obvious from the fact that I'm under the covers and he's over them, but she still looks uncomfortable to wake up and find a guy in her room.

Finn laughs at her and waggles his eyebrows at her rubber ducky pajamas. "Very sexy, Everdeen."

"Yeah. Peeta would probably think so too. I bet little ducks inflame him." I laugh.

"Puppies and kittens too?" Finn laughs and I nod.

She narrows her eyes and points a finger at me. "I don't know what's going on, or why you went to bed with one guy in one room and woke up here with a different one. But we're going to talk about this later. I want details." She gathers her bath stuff together and heads to the door, just as there's a knock.

I hear Everdeen mumble something that sounds suspiciously like, "Why is my room Grand Central Station?"

I don't hear anything else, though, because the person standing at the door is Brian. When he spies Finn and I on my bed, familiar and rumpled from sleeping, his eyes narrow.

_This can't be good._

-o-

_(A/N: Posting a little early for Bookwork98. Special thanks to Sighing39, Soamazinghere, Loneylime, and BaronessKika for letting me run ideas past them for this chapter. So many others have reviewed in a positive way. Thank you for reading and reviewing! P.S. Heavyarms59, your frustration may begin here… please don't throw your laptop!)_


	12. Sticky

_I do not own The Hunger Games._

_(A/N: Triggers in this chapter: eating disorder, compulsive behavior and really excessive underage drinking.)_

**Sticky**

Katniss escapes before anyone can say anything, and Finn finally breaks silence. "Hey, man. I'm Finn." He scrambles off the bed and shakes Brian's hand. Brian looks shell-shocked at both Finn's overture and…well, at Finn. I know that Finn gets that response sometimes – he is an Adonis, after all – but it's still annoying.

"I'm Brian. Nice to meet you. You're Finn? Really? I've heard a lot about you…" Ok, now it's getting old. Brian had seemed a little flabbergasted when I told him that my best friend was a guy. But now that he knows Finn is a hot guy…he seems even more taken aback, like I purposefully misled him or something.

Like being amazingly hot is a fucking crime.

Finn, to his credit, laughs. "Yeah. I hear you're the guy who puts the _O _in _Jo-hanna._" He grabs his shirt from the floor where he had tossed it last night. "Jo, I'll talk to you later." He waves at me and heads out the door, carrying his shoes.

"What's up?" I wait until the door shuts behind Finn to ask.

Brian runs his fingers through his short hair, his nervous tell. "I woke up and you weren't there. I got worried."

"I'm fine. I had a nightmare. I just needed…I needed to pace for a while." It's not bothered him that I don't stay the whole night in the past couple of weeks and I wonder what's different about last night. Is this what _I love you _means to him? Checking up on me? Needing me there all the time?

"Yeah, well. I just didn't expect to find you down here in bed with another guy." His shoulders are tense and I realize that he's serious: he really sees Finn as a threat. I'm not sure whether to laugh at him or be pissed because Finn was in my life long before Brian and he needs to get over it.

I try to tone it down when I say to him, "It was just Finn. I bumped into him while I was making my way down here. He must have gotten kicked out of someone's room."

Brian frowns and runs his fingers through his hair again. "I just thought… well, last night was special."

"It was special for me, too." That part isn't a lie and I mean every word.

"So special that you couldn't stay?" He says sarcastically, but there's hurt in his eyes.

I'm trying with everything I have not to be annoyed. "You know I don't sleep well, especially lately. I would like nothing better than to sleep through an entire night, but it just doesn't happen. You have nothing to do with it." I walk over to him. "Last night was great – really amazing. It didn't wave a magic wand over my ability to make it through an entire night, though."

He's frowning at me like he wants to argue more when there's a tap on the door. I yell for Katniss to come in so she can finish getting ready – Brian is not going to force my roommate out of her own room – and tell him that we'll talk more later.

"Ok." He says. "I love you?"

I can't bring myself to say the words, especially in front of Katniss who is looking at the two of us with her eyes as wide as saucers, so I nod. But I can tell that this conversation is not over by a long shot.

-o—

Someone touches my shoulders with cool hands, running them up and down my heated skin; it feels delightful and it drags me from sleeping to awake. I feel a little shoulder shake as I groggily move my head. When I open I my eyes, I realize I'm asleep with my head on my desk in front of our window. It's hot because of the late afternoon sun streaming in from the window and I'm just glad that I haven't drooled on my keyboard.

"Jo. Jo, wake up." Brue's voice snaps me completely awake even as he moves his hands way.

I rub my eyes and sit up. "I'm awake." My voice is rusty even though I spy by my laptop clock that I've only been asleep for an hour.

"Do you still want to go for a run?" He looks at me doubtfully, like he's not sure anyone who was asleep that heavily a second ago will want to immediately move to heavy physical activity.

But I do. I want to lose myself in a run the same way I was lost in sleep a minute ago.

"Let me just change really quick." I get up and cross to the door to shut it. For a split second, I wonder if Brian will freak out that there is another guy in my room and I shut the door more firmly than I intend, pissed off at the idea of Brian, or anyone, controlling my actions. I cross to my dresser and grab a sports bra and a different tank top to replace the sweaty one I'm wearing. Without another thought, I pull my shirt over my head. I hear a discrete cough behind me.

"What?" I look over my shoulder as I unhook my bra.

Brue is staring at me. "You're just going to change right in front of me." It's not even a question.

"Duh. Haven't you seen me naked or close to it bunches of times now?" Hell. The first time he ever came to my room I nuded up in front of him. Then there was the strip poker party…. Yeah. He's seen me before. "It's not like it's a big deal." I scramble into the sausage casing that is my sports bra, then slide my tank top over my head.

His smile flashes. "Yeah, well, I just thought that it would be different now that we're friends."

I turn to face him. "Let me get this straight: I'm supposed to care _more_ about being naked in front of you because we know each other? That's weird. They're just boobs: once you've seen 'em, it's not like they look different over time." I shrug.

Brian's disapproving face from earlier in the day flashes in my head; I doubt he would feel the same way.

He shakes his head and laughs. "_Just boobs._ You really don't get how guys think, do you?"

-o—

We're back in my dorm room after doing fifteen miles, waiting for Katniss, Madge, and Gale to meet up with us for dinner because somehow bad dining hall food tastes better with friends.

Brue is frowning at me as we stretch. "You're pushing yourself pretty hard, Mason."

"How so?" I guzzle some water from my Bobble. Some dribbles out onto my pink tank and I don't even think twice about how messy I look because the cool water feels so good. I would pour the whole thing over my head if I didn't think Katniss would flip out about a puddle on our carpet.

He shrugs. "You keep pushing yourself on the pace. What's up?"

"Nothing. I just… I need the physical activity." I don't add that it's the only time my brain isn't going a million miles an hour, pushing and pulling me until I feel mentally exhausted. Running is the only way that I can get my brain to shut off so I can sleep at night: I'm beating up my body so my brain can rest.

"But it's harder and faster every day." ." He's thoughtful when he says it, like he's trying to figure out my motivation. When I smirk at him, he snorts. "Not like that."

I spread my legs into a "v" and push my torso to the floor, hamstrings already tightening up. "What's the matter, MacLeod? You starting to feel like you can't keep up?" _Ha._ Like that's even possible. The guy barely broke a sweat today. I wonder exactly how much conditioning he does for water polo.

He smirks. "No. Just… running is new for you and I don't want you to get hurt."

_Oh, I'm already hurt, Brue._ _This is just anesthesia. _"I'll be fine." I dismiss his concerns. I'm going to do whatever I want anyway, and he doesn't get a vote.

"But…" he sounds doubtful.

"Look. If I were a guy, would you be giving me this lecture?" I look at him pointedly. "Because I'm betting the answer to that question is no. Girls aren't fragile. I won't break."

He frowns. "If you were a guy and I cared about you, I would still bring it up. Everyone has a breaking point, Jo."

I stare at him for a minute, wondering what that means when I hear Gale and Madge coming down the hallway. Their bickering breaks the sudden heaviness of the mood.

"Yams should be baked like a potato, not pureed." Madge sounds every inch the correct dame.

"But you can't put marshmallows on baked yams. Baked yams are just another vegetable. You need that slurry of sweet, melted marshmallows to make them taste good."

"Maybe you need that, Gale. My waistline and I do not need it, thank you."

"Oh, Madge. Lighten up about the calories. It's a holiday. Hey, where's Catnip?" Gale asks as they walk in the door.

"Not back yet. You guys having a good discussion?" I cock an eyebrow at the two of them.

Madge flips her hair. "Jo, tell him that marshmallows and yams do not belong anywhere near one another."

I'm about to give my opinion when Brue holds up his hand. "Let me answer this: I'm pretty sure I know your opinion." He's squinting at me like we can mind-meld. "I'm gonna say that Johanna is wholeheartedly for marshmallows on her yam casserole. Possibly with butter and molasses, maybe pancake syrup, brown sugar, and whatever else is sweet and not bolted down in the kitchen cupboard."

"Oh, really?" I cross my arms over my chest. "What makes you say that?"

Brue crosses his arms too. "I don't know. Maybe the tubs of frosting you eat were my first clue? Or maybe the fact that you dive into Peeta's baked goods like you're going off a ten meter platform? Tell me I'm wrong."

_Fucker. _ I glare at him because he's right. It's like Finn has imparted all of my food secrets to him.

"Hey, everyone! Jo, look who I found in the hallway…_again_." Katniss emphasizes the word as she walks in the door with Brian, who looks around the room and immediately hones in on Brue and I: our sweaty outfits, and the obvious tension between us. At least, it seems that way because his eyebrows knit together and his jaw clenches. Which would be sexy, if I weren't still a little bit pissed off by our conversation this morning.

I introduce Brian to everyone, leaving out the title of boyfriend because it makes me uncomfortable in a way I do not want to examine closely. I can tell that everyone remembers it from our conversations at the frat house, though. Gale immediately invites him to dinner with us, but Brian declines; I know he likes to eat dinner with the other Navy guys, so I'm doubly surprised to see him darken my door at this hour.

"Jo, can I talk to you for a second?"

I tell the group to go ahead and that I'll catch up. Katniss throws me a concerned look, like her personal motto is _no man left behind, _but I wave her off. I'd rather have this conversation alone than with some sort of audience and we can't keep putting it off.

"I just wanted to apologize for jumping to conclusions this morning. I'm not sure what I thought would happen after last night, but waking up alone wasn't really in my plan." He laughs a little. "So, when I saw you and Finn, I guess I just flipped out."

I nod. I guess I can see how it would have been a shock. "Ok. But it's just Finn. He's like my brother."

Brian raises an eyebrow.

"Ok, my exceptionally hot brother. Don't be a hater, Bri."

He smirks. "He's not the only one, Jo." He motions his hands around my dorm room. "All of the guys here tonight are your friends? …what am I supposed to think?"

I walk forward and poke him lightly in the chest. "You're supposed to trust me. How can you say…what you said to me...and not trust me?" I'm angry again because I've never done anything to make him doubt that I'm faithful. He should know by now that when I'm with him, I'm _with him._ "It's not like we spend a ton of time together, but I still trust _you."_

"Well, maybe we should change that…spending time together. Would you be up for that? Maybe I'd feel better about your friends if I knew them too."

I nod, only partly understanding. I don't get the need for all the qualifiers, all of the need for details. For me, it's simple: I trust him. That means no bullshit, just trust.

"Ok. Well, we can talk more about that later. I'll let you get to dinner – I love you." He kisses me lingeringly and seems to be waiting for something.

I feel a jolt of recognition. _He wants me to say it back._ "Love you," I say. But I don't meet his eyes.

Once he leaves, I grab my arm strap and phone: I won't be heading to the dining hall tonight after all.

-o-

By Saturday, I feel like my body is beginning to adjust to my own personal hell: I'm running ten miles a day with Brue and another ten before bed in an effort to collapse. In between I go to classes. I allow myself one meal a day and no sweets. I want _control_ over something in my life because almost every part of it is weighing on me. I want to prove to myself – to everyone, really – that I can _do _this. I'm an adult. I can handle school and my fucked up family situation and a boyfriend that rocks my world in some ways but doesn't make my heart sigh.

If Brue thought I was pushing myself hard before, I'm not sure what he would call this training and deprivation exercise. Except that he doesn't seem to notice and I probably wouldn't stop even if he did. My muscles are cramping and tight almost every day and I have to stretch just to get out of bed: but it does help me sleep for at least a few hours every night.

Brian and I haven't slept together since our argument the day after the handcuffs. I know that he has expectations that we'll spend some time together this coming week before we both leave for Thanksgiving and maybe even hang out with all of my friends. I'm personally hoping that everyone is busy so that I can use the break to think about what my next move is. I just need to get my feet under me and get a clear idea of how to either tell him that I don't love him or to make myself fall for him. Easy, right?

I feel trapped, like his words put handcuffs on my soul that night. How does one backpedal on a vow of the heart? I need to figure it out and _fast_.

-o—

Katniss and Finn convinced me to party at the frat house and I agreed, thinking it would help me blow off steam. Finn wasn't surprised, unlike Katniss, when I said that Brian wanted to tag along. I had been half-hoping that he couldn't come when I texted him our plans for later that night. He had immediately let me know how excited he was to come along. I'm disappointed in myself because I should _want_ him to come along: he is my boyfriend, after all, even if I'm not sure how I feel about him.

We're all at the frat house and I'm drinking whatever Brian puts in my cup. It's not beer, but some sort of purple Kool-Aid concoction. Katniss and Gale are playing beer pong, Madge and Finn are holding court with the beautiful people. Peeta and Brian are talking about soccer while I tune them out. Brue is nowhere to be found.

I know this because I'm looking for him.

The minute I figure this out, I gulp down the grape flavored concoction and pass a sidelong, guilty glance at Brian. Truth is I'm bored. As in, mind numbing, get-me-really-drunk bored: if I'm not here to spar with Brue, and I'm not here to flirt with other guys, why am I here? Brian is like the ultimate fun-killer.

I've got people coming up to me and saying hello. Quite a few of them are guys, and they're saying stuff like, "Hey, Jo! Are you gonna play strip poker tonight?" Someone else asks if Finn and I are going to lead a So. Cal. Spell Out. I'm laughing and giggling and waving, which is probably a bad sign, so it barely registers that Brian is asking Peeta about some of those events. Peeta, to his credit, makes them more legendary than they actually were with his amazing gift for words. Which, now that I think about it, seems more impressive when he's tipsy.

Or maybe it seems impressive when _I'm_ tipsy. Because I am. I realize when I slur an excuse to go to the bathroom that I'm weaving on my feet. I haven't had more than normal to drink – two red solo cups at this point – but I guess the purple stuff is more potent than beer. Or maybe it's the fact that I'm subsisting on Cup O' Noodles and water and I'm just more susceptible.

Whatever.

I wait in line with the other ladies and am jealous when a few of them start making out with guys while they wait. Talk about multi-tasking. One in particular seems into her date and it's getting the erotic engine of mine – never far from started – kicking into high gear. I want that. I want a guy's hands on my hips and his lips on mine to make me go all warm and dreamy on the inside in order to avoid my own shitty angst on the outside.

Is that too much to ask?

I finish my business and make my way to Brian. When I rub up against him and purr something in his ear, he laughs, pats me on the ass and whispers back, "later." I might recall that neither of us is particularly into PDAs if I were more sober.

But I'm not sober and I don't want later. I want now.

I go grab more purple stuff, unsteadily pouring from the Gatorade cooler being used as a dispenser. A little sloshes over the edge and I have to take a quick gulp so it's at a reasonable level.

"You ok?" Gale asks. He seems remarkably lucid and it permeates the rainbow vapor fogging my brain.

I think I mumble, "Never better."

He broods for a moment and looks at my drink, "I think you should slow down."

"I think you should go fuck yourself," I say. At least, I think that's what I say. It sounds a lot like "_You're a frog yourself."_

He reaches for my cup and the drink sloshes down the front of my t-shirt and mini skirt. I barely notice, just take another sip. "Seriously, Jo, you've had enough."

I shake my head and turn toward Brian. I'll be happy to stand with him. Frankly, I'll be happy to just lean against something solid so that the world stops spinning. I sashay over to him and drape myself around him, using his shoulders to hold myself up. I lean in and sloppily suck his earlobe, whispering to him that I want to suck him off. He startles, like he's actually interested this time, and I can see him eyeing my boobs through my purple stained and tacky t-shirt. I lick my lips in anticipation as I think about licking him like a grape Popsicle.

So I deflate faster than a guy during a Betty White cameo at a strip club when he says, "Five minutes."

Five minutes. Five-freaking-minutes? I croak it out in disbelief, "Five minutes?" But it sounds like "_fried peanuts?"_ When it gets me no response and he just casually goes back to his conversation with Peeta, I stomp away. I'm sure there's other fun to be had at the party. I sip more of my drink as I weave around the party looking for action, thighs sticking together slightly from the purple residue. It makes me want to take off my panties and throw them at the nearest, cutest guy I see, but I somehow still register that Brian is watching.

I spy Madge over in her corner. I wave at her with a flutter of my fingertips and blow her a kiss. She blows it back and giggles. Finn glances over and I stick out my tongue at him, which has him flipping me off.

I end up in back where the dancing is – hot bodies rubbing and gyrating while a strobe light blinks. It's dark enough, and the music loud enough, that the reverberation pounds through me like an aural vibrator. I want that feeling of being filled with something, so I start to dance, but my drink is too full and more sloshes out and down my front. I do the only thing I can think of to do and gun it so I can have two hands – two, very sticky hands – free.

All the better to grope with. Right?

I throw out the cup and skid back to the dance floor quickly because I hear a jam starting that I love. LOVE. I'm sure that I would find it ironic that they're playing a gay man's anthem at a fraternity party if I really stopped to think about it, but I'm too wrapped up in bouncing on the balls of my feet and screaming the words. _It's fun to stay at the…Y.M.C.A…._ I'm totally doing the dance and shaking my ass and I feel great. GREAT. Especially when I climb up on one of the speakers so more of the room can see my incredible dance skills.

Really, I'm quite talented.

I spy Brue talking to another bunch of guys and wave frantically, almost toppling off my perch. Thank goodness that the graceful motions of my arms help me regain my balance: I'm sure _The Karate Kid_ practicing his Crane kick has nothing on me.

He's frowning at me as he walks over. _Uh oh._

"Jo, how much have you had to drink?" He helps me down off the speaker. I wonder if he'd help me take my sticky underwear off. It's really distracting and I know how much he likes to be helpful…

I hold up some fingers, not even sure if they represent what I've actually imbibed.

"You're drunk." He says. It's less an accusation than a statement of fact.

"Nuh uh." I shake my head. It makes the room spin a little, so I have to change the direction of the head- shake to add counterpoint.

"Yeah. Know how I can tell? You just spelled Y.M.C.A. wrong. Which I'm pretty sure is impossible."

He lets me lean on him and it feels so good to be close: he smells like beer and deodorant and soap, his jeans and t-shirt clinging in all the right places. I want to lick his collarbone and nibble up his jaw.

"Where's your boyfriend?" He scans the room, brows furrowed.

My stomach does a funny little flip – and not in a good way – when I think about how he and Brian had shaken hands earlier tonight. I don't want them to know each other. I don't want him to call Brian my boyfriend.

I wave over to where Peeta and Brian were last sighted in what I hope is an elegant gesture. "Over there." I lean forward and say conspiratorially, "He won't let me blow him."

It comes out as "_He won't get me a doughnut."_

Brue looks at me and squints as if trying to decipher what I've just said. He takes a moment to look me over from the top of my mussed hair, to my stained shirt and jean mini-skirt. "You're a mess, you know that?"

I blink at him. Was that an insult? It doesn't seem to be. I need him to comprehend that I'm _not_ a mess: I'm great. I'm just a little... "I'm just sticky." I make sure to over-enunciate the words so that he can understand.

"Sticky?" He rocks back on his heels and grins.

I have to blink a couple of times at how blinding his grin is and what it does to my insides. I nod slowly, swaying side to side as the room tilts with my head. "Yeah." I don't really even think about what it might look like to anyone else when I grab his hand and put it between my thighs so he can feel for himself.

The feel of his warm palms and long fingers against the stickiness on the inside of my thighs…If I were sober, I would probably freeze. Hell, I would never have grabbed his hand if I were sober. I'm not, though, as evidenced by the fact that I wiggle so that his hand is more firmly wedged between my legs. It's the closest we've ever been and I love the heated, warm feel of him and how his fingers move just a little against my skin. Almost like they're stroking...

He's staring at me and I'm staring at him. The moment is spinning almost as fast as the room. His lips part ever so slightly and I watch, mesmerized, as his tongue touches the cleft in the middle of his generous lower lip. I want to bite him there. I can feel the heat blossom across my cheeks and chest as I watch him and a thousand fantasies flash...

Suddenly, I hear _One Way or Another_ and squeal. "One Direction!" I bounce away from him and jump up on a chair, dancing to Niall and the gang with my eyes closed. I don't even spare a thought to the guy I've left on the floor.

I don't know how I end up next to the karaoke machine a little while later, which is the hugest party foul ever because I can't sing but I'm so drunk that I think I can. I'm scrolling through the music when I hit the one I want and let out a _woohoo_! Yes, that's how drunk I am: I am actually a woohoo girl.

I stride toward the middle of the little makeshift karaoke stage, only stumbling twice in the five foot walk. I wait for the music to start with the microphone held in my hand like it's a dick, mouth hovering above it in anticipation as the music starts.

_This was never the way I planned, not my intention. I got so brave, drink in hand, lost my discretion. It's not what I'm used to. Just. Want to try you on. I'm curious for you, caught my attention…_

I'm just grinding my hips to roll into the chorus when I see Finn grinning at me with his arms crossed. I stutter a little at the expression on his face because I know what that look means: it means that Finn is about to end all of my fun. I cross my eyes at him.

_I kissed a girl and I liked it…._

And just like that, he swoops me up and over his shoulder. I reflexively hand the mic to Katniss, who looks remotely panicked before literally picking up where I left off. Only she doesn't nearly look like she knows what she's doing holding the dick/mic. Figures.

…_The taste of her cherry chapstick. I kissed a girl just to try it, hope my boyfriend don't mind it._

I'm shrieking. "Finn! What. The Fuck! Put me down!"

He's carrying me emphatically toward the stairs and being tipped upside down moving is making me queasy. "Friends don't let friends sing Katy Perry."

"You're letting Katniss!" It almost sounds like Catpiss when I say her name.

He says reasonably, "That's different: she's not tone deaf."

"Fuck you, Finn. I can sing!" I struggle a little bit but I've forgotten how well he knows how to handle me.

'Johanna, hyenas mating sound better than you did. You could have single-handedly ended the party. I was just doing everyone a favor."

"Fuck you."

"Yeah, you said that already. If I put you down, are you going to take it easy and sober up?" I can hear him laughing at me and I almost say it again.

From my vantage point upside down I can see that Brian's walking toward us because he's rocking those boat shoes he likes to wear without socks. I idly think about how sexy his ankles are.

"What's going on?" He says.

"Jo's really drunk. I was just going to help her sober up." Finn says and hikes me up on his shoulder. My stomach bottoms out when he does it and I wonder if that hollow, jiggling feeling is supposed to be there.

"I can take care of her." I hear Brian say over the blood that's rushing in my ears every time Finn moves. I don't think I've been upside down for this long in a while and it's making me swallow reflexively. I can still tell what they're saying, though, as I struggle.

Finn has to put his hands on my lower back to stop me from moving around. "No, you can't. You let her get this way in the first place. Did you even notice how drunk she was getting?" Finn's pretty magnificent when he gets angry. His perfectly easy-going persona doesn't slip often, but when it does…I can almost imagine the way his green eyes are flashing fire underneath his dark brows, golden hair caressing his forehead. I say almost imagine because I'm busy fighting the almost constant urge to swallow every time he moves his shoulder.

"No. She's a big girl. Jo can take care of herself." I know Brian means it as a sign of respect. But that's not the way that Finn…

"But you came here with her." There it is. Finn is very insistent that, if a guy brings a girl somewhere, he looks out for her. Call it chivalry, call it old fashioned, call it an almost guaranteed sure-lay at the end of the night….Because sure-lay Finn gets laid every time.

Get it? I crack myself up.

I would laugh if I weren't concentrating so hard on raising my hands to tap on Finn's back incessantly. Because there's something he needs to know. Right. Now.

Finn's warming to his topic, so he ignores my thumps. "So, since you didn't do your job, someone who actually cares about her will."

_Tap tap tap…_

"But I care about her and she's _my_ girlfriend." Brian's pretty pissed.

I just know that's going to set Finn off and I really need to get his attention, so I start clawing his shirt up his back.

"Yeah? Well, I've had my hands between her legs a lot longer than you have so maybe that gives me an edge. Because you should be _paying attention_ to her. She's a wreck. How can you not see it?"

"Finn?" My voice sounds very far away, like my head is a giant drum and my voice just echoes through it. There's a rushing water noise that might be my pulse or the Jungle Juice...

"She's independent."

"Yeah. But the way to lift her up is to be a partner and not take that for granted."

I'm almost glad he's holding me so that he can't deck Brian; he sounds _that_ pissed.

"Finn…" I'm insistent now.

"What?" He's cranky, even with me.

"Put me down." I over enunciate so he can be sure to hear me. He gently props me up against the stairs and I'm grateful to feel the blood rush from my head. Though the lights seem very, very bright suddenly…

"I want to go with him. I'm supposed to love him." Brian doesn't catch it, but Finn does, even though I'm mumbling. He rounds on me with wide eyes. _Supposed to._ Finn gets that I don't. My eyes fill with tears because I'm a failure. I can't even love someone right.

I'm such a fuck up.

So I say the thing I've been meaning to say since I was upside down. The thing I've been holding back for a full two minutes now. I announce it loudly to the room, as if they all deserve to know and I'm the most important person at this party. Because, if I don't announce it and it takes people unaware, I suddenly will be.

"I'm gonna puke." My voice is that of a cool imperial duchess.

Things move in slow motion after that as I concentrate on controlling the gagging. My next lucid thought is _Thank God for Peeta_ when he shows up with a trashcan just in time for me to stick my head inside of it and lose my Cup 'O Noodles.

_(Very, very special thanks to two amazing people who provided feedback on this chapter: Baroness Kika and Soamazinghere. This chapter in particular was almost impossible for me to write. At one point I told BK I was just going to delete the entire story, but she believed in it and she kicked my butt to get me through it. A thousand thank you's, ladies. For you readers – you should check out _All the Right Friends in All the Right Places,Flesh and Bone, _as well as_ The Endless In-Between. _They are tremendously great reads.)_


	13. Appointments

_I do not own The Hunger Games._

_(A/N: Thank you for all the reviews of Chapter 12! There were so many that I replied to them individually. For the guest who is upset about Finn's hair color, I picture bronze to be closer to blonde for this story since he is a lifeguard and spends a lot of time near chlorine and a pool. I hope you all enjoy this chapter and there's more Everlark on the way… Oh, and eating disorder and hangover triggers in this chapter.)_

**Ch. 13 Appointments**

"Oh my God." I groan and stretch. My body feels like a truck hit it. _Where am I?_ I look around, taking in the full bed with its blue and beige bedclothes, the book case full of science fiction, art, and cookbooks, the desk with pencil drawings hung behind it and struggle to remember….

Oh, yeah. It's Peeta's room. I can't believe he let me sleep on the bed after I was pretty much a puking machine last night. I am thankful beyond words that the room neither smells like puke nor purple Jungle Juice. Just the thought of that smell makes me gag a little.

"You're up." Finn is reading in the corner. I think it's the book Peeta's brothers gave him – the one that talks about giving a woman a great orgasm – and I want to snort at the idea of Finn even needing to read a book like that. Almost. Because I'm pretty sure snorting might actually cause a vacuum that makes my brain implode. Instead, I nod carefully so the tiny shards of glass inside my head don't move much.

"Good. Katniss is downstairs with Peeta. Let's get you to drink another glass of water." Finn pours me a glass of water from a plastic pitcher and holds it out. I realize that the image I have of him doing this same thing throughout the night isn't a dream: Finn really did make me drink water throughout the night last night. Even when I was fighting him. Even when Katniss had to hold my arms at my sides and they had to force the issue. Even when I was puking it up right after drinking it.

I feel so guilty for being this much trouble that I take the glass without protest and down it. Besides, maybe it will get the dead animal taste out of my mouth. What I wouldn't give for some mouthwash….

"There's mouthwash in the bathroom. Peeta cleaned the shower out after…well… after you insisted that we hose you off because you were _sticky_ and you puked there too. So, I'm sure it would be ok if you want to take a shower. Just lock the door so the fraternity hordes don't interrupt."

I swing my legs over the side of the bed and realize I'm not wearing my clothes from last night. Instead, I'm wearing a pair of blue boxers and an 'SC water polo t-shirt, which is decidedly _not _Peeta's.

There's a quiet knock at the door. When Finn opens it, Brue is standing there with a pile of laundry.

"Jo's clothes are clean. I can't say that the shirt is ever going to be the same, but everything is wearable." Brue hands some stuff to Finn, then looks past him and sees me sitting up. "You're awake. How are you feeling?"

"Ok." I say. My voice is raw. "Thanks for…" I motion to the laundry. What I really mean is "Thanks for everything." I can feel my face getting warm with embarrassment.

He nods, getting my meaning. "You're welcome. I had to do a load of whites anyway, so I just threw your stuff in too. You had Finn and Katniss a little worried for a while there." He pauses for a minute. "I'm going to guess that we're not running today."

I laugh, a quiet, raspy sound that, surprisingly, doesn't make my head explode. "Probably not." I'm fixated by the thought of my laundry and Brue's mingling in an oddly intimate way during the wash cycle.

He smiles and I feel something tighten in my chest. "Ok. Quick sobriety test: fill in the blank…It's fun to stay at the….?"

"Y.M.C.A." I have a vague memory of something from last night and put my hand over my eyes when I say, "Please tell me I didn't really…" I feel heat bloom on my cheeks again when the memory of me pushing Brue's hands between my legs surfaces.

"You kept singing Y.C.M.A. Don't worry though, I won't tell." He winks at me. "I'll let you get dressed."

"Should I just leave your clothes here?" I finger the soft t-shirt again.

"Only the shirt's mine…the boxers are Peet's. Just drop them back here and we'll get it sorted out later. Finn, I'll see you at the pool." He waves and then shuts the door.

I'm glad the boxers are Peeta's because the thought of being naked in a pair of Brue's underwear is too much. But I'm suddenly a little concerned at the thought that my friends changed my clothes. Where was Brian during all of this?

"When did Brian leave?" It's a random thought but suddenly I have to know.

Finn hedges, "Jo…let's talk about this later."

My eyes clash with his: that can't mean good things. "Come on, Finn. When did he leave?"

Finn sighs and I realize last night wasn't kind to him either – he spent it looking after me instead of sleeping. "Jo, you were pretty drunk. After you puked the first time, Peeta and I hustled you up here. You were pretty difficult and insisted…well, you kept insisting that you were sticky. So you started taking off your clothes. Peeta was trying to get you to leave them on while he rounded up towels for the bathroom and I was trying to make sure you didn't puke again…"

I close my eyes, afraid of where this is going.

"…But he walked in right at the point where you were taking your top off. He seemed pretty unhappy when he stormed out."

Fuck.

If my head didn't already feel shattered and put back together, that would be enough to start my pulse pounding: he is never, ever going to forget this. _Fuck. Fuck. Fuck. _Maybe I won't have to deal with telling him I don't love him. Maybe I've already taken care of him never speaking to me again.

I pull on my clothes, stopping only for a second to consider Brue folding my white boy shorts with _Jo-Jo_ monogrammed on the butt in lavender letters. I shake it off because this is not, obviously, the first time he's ever touched a pair of girl's panties and I've got to find Katniss to get back to the dorms and strategize.

…because I have no idea how to talk myself out of this one with Brian.

_-o—_

Katniss and Finn walk me back the two blocks back to campus after Peeta tries to foist some warm, Danish pinwheels on us. They smelled so amazing, the buttery flakiness of the puff pastry the perfect foil for the cheese and jam filled centers, that I almost didn't hear Peeta tell me that the boxers were from a new pack so I didn't have to be grossed out about wearing his underwear. Thank God, right? Despite the grumbling of my stomach, I was able to stay strong, thank him for letting me crash in his room, and take my leave. It did not escape my notice that Katniss left holding a paper bag, though.

I feel pretty badly that this is the second time she's slept in Peeta's room and the guy still hasn't scored. Never mind that his frat brothers seem to think he's a legend and had some sort of orgiastic foursome last night. I guess Finn's rep, coupled with my nude antics the night before in the hallway, cemented an idea that there was more going on in his room than me holding on to the floor or trashcan in order to keep myself from falling off the earth.

Whatever. It's good advertising in case I'm ever single again.

Katniss insists that we stop at the Burger King on Jefferson. Normally, this would cheer me up to no end because this Burger King is right next to the firehouse and Sundays are when the super-hot Los Angeles firefighters wash the trucks. Shirtless, a lot of the time, I might add. If there is anything hotter than a shirtless firefighter, I don't know what it is. The sight is so amazing that Burger King should sell tickets. I'm surprised they haven't had that idea, considering this Burger King actually makes you use quarters to get into the bathrooms.

Finn and I plop into plastic seats on the patio where we can see the front-row action and Katniss goes inside to get snacks. I'm not really sure what she needs Burger King for when I can see the butter oozing like pastry pre-cum through the paper bag that she's brought with her from the frat house. We wait for her patiently. Finn looks thoughtful while I just take in the luscious sights of L.A.'s finest scrubbing those dirty, dirty trucks. _Get those nooks and crannies wet, boys…_

And that's not a euphemism.

Katniss comes back with a fistful of trans fats – hash brown nuggets, Cinnabon Minibons, French toast sticks – all the things that would make my mouth water if I were hungry. Which I'm not. Really. No matter how much my fingers twitch for that deep fried goodness, I'm not allowing myself that sort of self-pleasure.

Katniss doesn't seem to care much for my deprivation as she plops the bag of goods on the table and slides them right in front of me. When I don't take her up on it, she pops the top on the pancake syrup, then sits back and watches me for a second when I still don't take a bite.

"Jo, what are you doing?" She sighs heavily. I can see the dark circles under her eyes.

I cross my arms in front of me. "Nothing. I'm not hungry – must still be nauseous from last night."

Finn snorts. "Come on, Jo. I've seen you put away an entire pizza after a night like that. Katniss is right: what's going on?"

"Nothing."

Katniss addresses Finn, "She's running miles and miles too. Is that normal when she's stressed out?"

Finn frowns, "Like how many?"

Katniss shrugs so Finn turns at me, "How many, Jo?"

I stare at a sweaty firefighter, knowing that Finn is going to wig out a little. "I don't know. Twenty? Maybe twenty five?"

_"A day?"_ He grabs a hash brown and munches on it. "Do you remember Julie from the squad?"

I look at him, knowing where he's going with this. Julie spent an entire season rationing her food and working out before her parents pulled her off to get her healthy. But I'm not like that and I say so. He glares at me.

Katniss fidgets and plays with a Swiss Army knife while she listens to Finn try to talk some sense into me. "Jo, Finn's right."

"Oh, fuck, Everdeen. Not you too. I'm fine. Fine! Do I look like I'm wasting away?" I need this like I need a hole in the head.

"I could ask you the same question about me. Do I?" Her eyes meet mine directly while her hands keep closing and unclosing the knife. "Would you say I'm fine? Because I'm not. And neither are you."

"Fuck you both." I'm breathing hard so I stand up, ready to run…anywhere…despite the pounding in my head. Finn puts his hand on my arm, but it's Katniss who stops me in my tracks.

"No, Jo. _Fuck you._" She slams the Swiss army knife into the plastic table so that it stands, quivering, on its end. I don't think I've ever seen her this pissed. "You're going to sit there and listen to this. I fucking sang _Katy Perry_ in front of total strangers and spent the night in Peeta's room, sober, for you. So you're going to fucking sit down and have a hash brown and listen to me, so help me God."

She's shaking, that's how hard her fists are clenched.

Fuuuuckkk….. Go Everdeen. I sit my ass back in the chair. "Fine. But I'm not eating."

She smirks. "We'll see about that."

I'm expecting her to go off on how I'm not taking care of myself. How my friends care about me. How my hair will fall out and my teeth will go bad if I end up with an eating disorder. But she doesn't go there.

She sits there staring at me for a full thirty seconds, as if weighing if I can be trusted. Finally, she opens her mouth and tells me a story. "When I was a kid, my dad died. You know that part. And my Mother sort of checked out. Things were left up to me to manage: getting Prim and I to school, laundry, homework, buying groceries….all of it. We didn't have a lot of money, so I rationed what we bought: some for me, more for Prim. She was still growing and I thought she needed it more. I resented my mom for putting me in that position, but the truth is that I liked feeling in control of something after he died.

"So I really watched what I ate, telling myself that I needed to have everything handled. That, no matter what my Mom was going through, I had to handle everything for everyone and that meant putting them first. Depriving myself became a way for me to prove that I had it all handled.

"I always had an excuse to maintain tight control: money, Prim, the fact that I had a reputation as a tight-ass, goody-two-shoes who never partied. Not when I was in high school, even when my mom snapped out of it, and not here. Not until I started seeing someone."

"So it wasn't Peeta who got you to eat with total abandon?" I frown.

She blushes and laughs. "No. Well, yes. Sort of. Dr. Aurelius and I are working on making me comfortable with being significant to myself. With letting go and having fun. With losing control. I talk about you a lot, and he thinks you're a good influence in that regard: you help me to be spontaneous and relax my insane expectations for myself."

I snort. "Yeah. That's my super power, alright."

"Stop it." Finn says in a clipped tone of voice. "I'm not going to put up with you making derogatory comments about yourself. We've been through too freaking much together for me to put up with you talking shit about yourself."

Seriously? Who made my friends so kick ass?

"Well, Finn, since we're over-sharing here, what's the big flaw you're working through?" I say it sarcastically, still processing that Everdeen has been hiding control issues of her own. What other things have I missed about my friends?

"Me?" He scoffs, then looks down the street with a serious and thoughtful expression on his face. "I just want to be loved."

I snort. _Loved?_ Like Finn Odair has ever had a problem in that area.

"So, you see? I know how it starts and I've spent the last four months in therapy trying to be more like you. You can't up and try to be like me! I won't let you do that. After all, it is all about me." She gives a tiny grin to let me know she's kidding and holds out her hand. "Give me your phone, Jo. I'm going to program my doctor's number into your phone and tomorrow, you're going to make an appointment. I'll go with you."

"So will I." Finn cuts in as he munches on a French toast stick.

I hand her my phone, afraid she'll stab me through the heart with a spork otherwise. She fumbles with it for a minute – I have to give her my screen password (which is _fuck, of course_) and then frowns.

"You already have his name and number in here." She's looking at me expectantly.

I have no idea what she's talking about until I take the phone back and glance at the contact: it rings a bell. And that's when I realize that Katniss's therapist, the one who is helping her become significant to herself, is also Peeta's.

And that is the exact moment when I decide to give therapy a try: because if two of my closest friends can trust this guy, why can't I?

-o-

Katniss stands by while I call to make an appointment. Luckily, the week of Thanksgiving is a quiet week at the Student Health Center and I make an appointment for that afternoon. I shake my head when she asks if I want her to come with: I don't want to feel like she doesn't trust me to walk half a block. It's weird enough that she looks like she wants to hug me before my meeting. Luckily, though, she sneezes before she can follow through on the urge.

Thank God.

So I go. And the guy's not at all what I expect: there's no pipe, there's no tweed jacket. He looks like a totally normal L.A. guy in a white button down and ratty jeans, but he has these intense eyes… Actually, if I squint, he sort of looks like Jeremy Renner.

I assure you, picturing him dressed as Hawkeye is only mildly distracting.

He asks me what I want to get out of our time together and what comes out of my mouth surprises even me, "I want to stop feeling so bad about myself all the time."

He cocks an eyebrow at me but remains silent.

"I just…I have nightmares. And I can't live up to being who everyone thinks I am. What if I fail? What if I can't handle all of this?" I wave my hand around. "I just want to feel ok."

He "Tell me about something you do that makes you feel the way you want to feel."

I tell him about running and about how the only thing that can shut my mind off is exhaustion. I give him examples of the frat parties, shopping with Katniss and Madge, laughing with Finn, cheerleading. I even mention sex, as weird as that might be during our first appointment. All of those things let me be myself, though, without any pressure to pretend to be perfect.

When he asks about things that make me feel the opposite, I spill it: I explain how big a fraud I feel lately, like I can't do anything right and it's all going to catch up with me. Like there's two people I want to be – the "real me" and then "me" everyone else expects. I tell him about school and my parents and my major. I even tell him about Brian and the pressure of loving someone I've only known a few months. By the time I'm done talking, my heart is pounding, I feel like I've run ten miles and I'm gasping for breath.

I leave out the part about my sister, not ready to go there quite yet.

"And you're going home for Thanksgiving?" He's writing something down on a legal pad.

I lean over and try to see what it says while I nod.

"Johanna, I want you to try something for me while you're away in preparation for our next session." He pauses, then stops to ask, "There is going to be a next session, yes?"

I laugh and answer truthfully, "If only because you're sort of hot."

He blinks at me, then carries on as if I said nothing, "I'm going to give you a small book. I'd like you to keep a journal of all the times you did something or said something that wasn't the_ real _you and why you did it instead of what the _real_ you would do. For example, if you tell Brian that you love him, write it down with a brief description of what held you back from being _real _in that moment."

"That's it?" I take the small book he hands me and look at it doubtfully.

"I'd like you to keep running. There is research to suggest that it can help combat anxiety and depression, so I do think it's doing some good. However, I think you should also start a food log. If you are running that much, we need to make sure you stay healthy."

"That seems like a lot of writing."

"It can be. But it will help us decide if we bring in a psychiatrist to consult for drug therapy or if we stick with psychology to help you. Do you think you can keep up with it?"

"Sure. It will be easier when I'm home."

"Good. The goal here is going to be to become more of your real self. Try to keep that in mind too."

"What if I don't know who that is yet?" I'm doubtful because I've usually got everything all figured out and I hate this feeling of not knowing if I'm doing the right things.

He clears his throat. "You're eighteen years old, Johanna. We'll have to figure out why you expect yourself to have all of the answers when you're still learning so much."

"Okay." I grip the little book like it holds the key to the world's mysteries as I leave his office. I feel lighter, more in control: I have a plan now. There's work to be done. I can break it into parts and solve this problem one bit at a time.

As I spy Katniss and Finn pretending to study as they wait for me on the grass, I also realize that I feel something else.

I'm hungry.

_(A/N: Thank you to BaronessKika and Soamazinghere for letting me bounce ideas off of them, for proofreading, and for just being very cool ladies. Sighing39 has also given me tons of support that has helped me to get back on track. If you want some other great a/u stories: _Flesh and Bone_, _All the Right Friends in All the Right Places_ and _The Endless In Between _are wonderful!)_


	14. Thanksgiving (Katniss and Peeta Outtake)

_I do not own The Hunger Games._

_(A/N: It's time for another glimpse of Everlark!)_

**Ch. 14: Thanksgiving (K &P Outtake)**

Katniss's phone rings, waking her out of a very sound sleep. Her first thought is that she hasn't felt this bad in…well…in forever. Her throat is raw, her nose is stuffed and the worst part is that she's sure she's got a fever. No, the worst part is that she can actually hear her mother telling her "I told you so" for not taking her vitamins.

Her mom is a freak about vitamins.

"Hello?" Her throat feels like sandpaper and hurts like it's peppered with shards of glass. The effort of finding her phone is almost too much, and she leans back against her pillows, snuggling down as far as she can into the dark green nest.

"Catnip? No wonder Johanna called Madge and warned her that you weren't feeling well. Jesus. You sound like shit. "

"Mmm." Katniss tries to make as little air flow over her vocal cords as possible, which results in a cough. Coughing makes her throat feel like it's being eaten away by acid.

"I'm coming over." Gale has _that_ tone: the one Katniss knows demonstrates how stubborn he can be.

"No. I'll just get you sick. And what about Madge?" She punctuates her words with a sneeze and a sniffle. If there's one thing she knows about Gale it's how much he hates being sick. And this chance to pick Madge's dad's brain about politics over dinner is once in a lifetime. Or she thinks it will be, if Gale cancels on them.

"Madge will understand."

"No. I'm fine." Katniss says it emphatically, and it just makes her cough again. She wishes she could convey to him, without hacking up a lung, that Madge would just feel jilted if he spent the day taking care of her instead. She leans her sweaty head back against her pillows. She's so tired and cold, and she just wants to rest for a minute.

"You need someone to take care of you." She hears Gale put the phone onto his chest, like he's having a conversation with someone else. She closes her eyes and is actually drifting off to sleep when he comes back. "Catnip? Peeta's going to come by later. He's making dinner here, so he'll bring you something to eat. Ok?" This would normally alarm Katniss, who likes to lick her wounds privately and only ever lets Prim act as a nurse. The very last thing she needs is someone hovering over her. But her bed is so comfortable and Gale's voice is droning on about what Peeta's making for dinner at the frat house…

She's not even sure if she makes a sound in response, because the next thing she knows, there's a knock on the door. It barely registers that it's Peeta, standing with some groceries and a messenger bag filled to the brim. She waves at him – talking is too hard – and climbs back into bed. She silently thanks him for not asking the obvious question about how she feels.

Peeta frowns as he takes in her Hannah Montana pajamas and striped socks. "I brought you some cough medicine and some flu stuff; I wasn't sure what you needed. Will you take something?" He unpacks a bag of what looks like various cold and flu remedy on the planet: tissues, pills, cough syrup, and cough drops all end up on her desk.

Katniss nods, afraid that talking will cause a coughing attack, or, worse, make her puke. She knows that Peeta is used to pukers. Heck, he's even puked in front him herself! And he has taught her that a little bit of powdered laundry detergent in the bottom of the trashcan can stop the entire room from smelling like puke. But she doesn't want him to see her that way again; not now that they're friends.

She eyes the stuff on the desk again and can't believe that he's gone through all of this trouble. Of course, that's Peeta's modus operandi: taking care of damsels in distress. Maybe he's branching out from drunk girls to sick ones.

"Here, take this. I brought some soup too. 'Figured you haven't eaten anything in a while." He hands her a pill and some water, which she dutifully takes as he pulls the top off a thermos. The steam rising from it scents the air with turkey and rosemary so strongly that she can actually smell it: she's pretty sure that it would taste good if she could even muster the energy to taste it. He finds a mug and pours some of the rich broth into it. "Sip this."

Katniss surprises him by cupping her hands around it and sipping it gently, without any argument. The steam alone makes her feel better and she stares into the cup with interest. It's a cloudy broth, almost thick enough to be miso. She looks up to find Peeta watching her.

"It's turkey broth. I used the leftovers from today's dinner. Go ahead and drink up, then rest a bit." Peeta feels her forehead, his hand cool against her skin. She swears she feels him brush her hair back and it almost makes her feel badly that she looks a mess. He really is so nice. Why has she never noticed how wonderful it feels to be taken care of? She owes him so much and here she is again, taking advantage of him.

"Thank you for coming." She pushes the words past her swollen throat, then rolls to face the wall and promptly falls asleep.

-o—

"Prim!" Katniss jolts awake and cries out, panicked. Her throat is on fire, her skin prickles with cold and hot needles. She shivers.

Peeta rushes to the bed. "Shh, Katniss, it's ok. It's just a dream. Prim's ok." He feels her forehead with his cool, capable hands. "You're really warm. I think it's time for more medicine."

Katniss coughs as he gets her some water and coaxes her to sit up. "It was so real. Something horrible had happened to her and I couldn't get to her in time. Peeta, I'm so far way. What if I couldn't get there in time? And it's Thanksgiving and I didn't even call…" She's crying, but she takes the medicine when he holds it out to her. A shiver racks through her as she drinks the water, even though it's not cold, and her hand shakes.

Peeta has to reach out and take the cup from her so she doesn't spill. "Katniss, it was just a dream. She's fine. If you want, we can Skype her tomorrow and wish her a Happy Thanksgiving then. Just…just relax and try to go to sleep. We need your fever to break."

Katniss surprises him by locking onto his blue eyes. "You'll stay?" Her eyes are still damp and full of emotion and her teeth are chattering. Peeta can't look away.

"Of course." He hears himself say. After all, she needs him. How is he supposed to turn away? He kicks off his shoes, shuts off the light and gets ready to lie down on the floor when Katniss stops him with a mewling noise that sounds like his name.

"Katniss?" He sits up and reaches for where he thinks her forehead is but she grabs his hands instead and tugs him onto the bed.

"I'm…so….cooollld." She tugs until he's lying on top of her covers and she can press herself up against his warmth.

-o—

Peeta wakes to find sunlight streaming through the window and Katniss is cool to the touch. He knows it's early – he's never been one for sleeping late – so he sneaks out to use the restroom, then boots up his computer and puts on a movie. When that's done and Katniss is still not awake, he sits on Johanna's rumpled bed and sketches her.

"What are you drawing?" Her throat is raw but her limbs ache less than the day before. She can feel the dried sweat coating her body and it makes her scowl.

Peeta reaches a stopping point and closes his sketchbook. "Nothing. Just doodling to pass the time. Feeling better?"

"Yeah, loads. I'm sorry I kept you here last night." She shoves herself up to a sitting position, then has to brace herself because she's lightheaded.

"Easy… you're still probably pretty weak. Do you guys have an electric kettle? I can make you some tea."

"No. We just…um…we heat mugs of water in the microwave." Katniss says.

Peeta grimaces like he disapproves, but crosses to the microwave and pops a cup of water into it. While it's heating, he takes a container from the refrigerator and opens it. "While that's heating, feel like trying to eat a little something?"

"More broth?" Katniss stomach grumbles. It's not that she's ungrateful, she was just hoping for something more substantial. She closes her eyes and imagines Peeta's chocolate cake sliding past her lips.

Peeta stirs something in the container, then puts some in a plastic cup. "Try this. If it agrees with you, we can try more in a little bit."

Katniss takes the cup of what looks to be vanilla pudding and sniffs it. "What is it?" She takes a tentative lick of the spoon and the velvety rich egg custard flavor bursts on her tongue with a cinnamon afterburn that banishes the horrible taste in her mouth. Immediately, her throat feels better.

"It's Natilla – a Cuban custard. My grandpa Mellark used to make it for me when I was…under the weather…as a kid. It should help give you some energy and the eggs are a good source of protein." He watches her eat greedily for a minute, then adds wryly, "I thought I might have to lure you to eat today."

Katniss shakes her head as she continues to eat. "I'm starving and it's perfect. You should have some."

Peeta shakes his head and turns away to fiddle with the teabag steeping in the mug. "No, thanks. I don't eat it anymore."

"You made this for me?" Katniss stops with the spoon halfway to her mouth and puts it back in the mostly empty cup. "Peeta…"

"Katniss, it's ok. I knew you were sick and I wanted to help." He crosses to her, takes the cup and replaces it with the mug of unsweetened tea.

She stares at her hands sightlessly. "You're always helping me. I'm going to owe you forever at this rate."

Her frown hurts his heart. "No, Katniss. You don't owe me anything. Now, drink up." The last sentence is said gently as he nods toward the mug.

She stares at the mug sightlessly. "If you hadn't given me that money and I had gotten caught, they would have taken Prim and I to a home."

"You don't know that."

She nods. "Yes. I was desperate. How was I going to make it out of a grocery store with milk and turkey and bread? Prim and I were hungry and we didn't have any money. I don't know what I was thinking: maybe I could sneak out with someone like I was with their family? Instead of getting caught by the store and arrested or worse." She meets his blue eyes with her gray ones. "I didn't have to figure it out, though. You pretended that I had dropped the money you gave me. What was it?"

Peeta clears his throat and says quietly, "It was my allowance."

Katniss nods. "And I took it. I took your allowance and used it to buy stuff for us to eat. It was the kindest thing anyone's ever done for me, before today." Her eyes cling to his for a moment before she sighs and drains the cup of tea. "I'm full. Thank you. Thank you for everything, Peeta."

Peeta colors a dull red. "You're welcome."

His phone buzzes and he walks to it, glancing at the incoming text. He blushes more profusely. "Katniss, why does your roommate need to know what size boxers I wear?"

"What?" Katniss gapes. That seems a little strange even for Jo to ask.

"Johanna is asking me what size underwear I wear. It seems like an odd question." He texts profusely.

"What are you texting her?" Katniss pads over to where he stands and tries to look at his screen when her phone starts to buzz. She wanders over to it while she watches Peeta.

"Just wishing her a happy Thanksgiving," Peeta says.

Katniss looks at her phone. "_He's there, isn't he?" _It says. Katniss smirks and types back, "_Maybe_."

Almost immediately, Peeta's phone buzzes and he smiles and types something.

"What's she saying?" Katniss waits patiently. She knows that Johanna won't be able to resist responding and she's not disappointed. "_Please tell me you aren't sick and just used this as an excuse to fuck his brains out." _Katniss writes back, "_I'll never tell._"

Peeta's phone buzzes again and it has him smiling at Katniss in a way that makes her stomach flutter. She might actually enjoy that look if she didn't feel like a used up dish rag.

"_How big is he? Because those boxers were roomy." _The next text reads.

Katniss glances at Peeta and then drops her eyes to his hips. It's sort of fun watching his eyes get wide as he realizes where she's looking. Katniss writes back, "_I'll bet he's a large. How's your weekend?" _

"_Don't change the subject. There're condoms in my top dresser drawer." _The response reads and then continues, "_I'll tell you about my weekend when I get back - you're not missing much."_

There's a pause and then Katniss gets another text that makes her laugh out loud. "_You are just fucking with me, right? The two of you are not boning in our room right now?" _

Katniss does the one thing she knows will drive Johanna Mason insane: she shuts her phone off.

Peeta stands watching Katniss's secret smile with a smile of his own. "Care to share whatever that was about?"

Katniss shakes her head. "Nope." She smooths a strand of hair behind her ear. "Do you think…well…do you think I could go take a shower? And maybe you could stay?" She's suddenly feeling forward, her conversation with Jo giving her confidence that she doesn't normally have. Never mind the fact that she probably smells, she wants Peeta Mellark to herself for a little while longer.

He stares, totally taken aback, like her request is completely unexpected. "Um. Sure. I'll just. Wait here?" His voice breaks a little at the end of the sentence.

She nods.

-o—

"Do you want to watch a movie?" Peeta motions to his laptop, "I have Netflix."

Katniss is more tired than she wants to admit, but at least she felt clean in new sweats and with new sheets on the bed. Peeta had even opened the window while she showered to air out her room.

"Sure." She isn't sure if she is going to be able to keep her eyes open, but he doesn't need to know that. She's worried about more nightmares, so she adds, "Nothing scary."

"Then Twilight is off the list of possibilities." Peeta scrolls down the list of movies.

"Because it's scary?"

Peeta glances her way. "Have you seen Kristin Stewart's acting?"

They eventually land on _Journey to the Center of the Earth_ and move to Katniss's bed; they have to sit side by side to see the laptop screen and neither one of them wants to get too close. Katniss's eyes start to droop though, and Peeta sees it. He drapes an arm around her shoulder and pulls her in so that her head rests of his shoulder.

"You should rest." He ghosts a hand up to her forehead to make sure she's still cool.

Katniss's eyes are already closed but she makes a sound of protest. "I don't want you to go." She doesn't want to explain to him that she likes having him with her and that she can get used to being important to him. She hasn't felt this safe or cared for since Prim.

He continues to stroke her hair until he knows she's well and truly asleep, then whispers. "I won't. You can always count on me."

-o—

"Stop! Stop! You guys, that tickles!" Katniss laughs as Peeta and Finnick each draw on a hip bone. She's not sure who started it, but each of the guys has a pen and is drawing on her jeans. Finn's looks like a fish. Peeta's looks like some sort of flower. Katniss is sure that he would add a lot more detail if only she would stop giggling.

"Finn, can you please hold her down?" Peeta grimaces at her as she wriggles.

A shadow crosses the door. "What in the fuck is going on here?"

"Jo!" Katniss laughs again. "The guys are decorating my pants. I'm so glad you're back."

Johanna crosses the threshold with her weekend rollie bag. "The _guys_ are decorating your pants? Really? That's what we're calling it now? Because I don't see a fucking Bedazzler. And Finn…what the hell were you thinking, sending Brue to get me at the train station? Actually, let me take that back. What were you thinking, fucking leaving me in Orange County in the first place?"

Finn stands up and gives her a hug, despite the fact that she keeps trying to push him off. "I'm sorry, Jo. I had to work. What took you so long getting….Wait a second. Didn't your train come in _two hours ago?_" Finn cocks in her direction. "What did you do to Brue? I don't see any blood on you, so you obviously didn't kill him. Are you still wearing panties?"

"What's that supposed to mean?" Jo shoots him a dirty look.

Finn gives her the Finn Odair smile, fully equipped to melt even those most hardened of hearts. "Well, Jo, you have a way of putting things into two categories: kill it or fuck it."

"Keep it up, Finn. Because you're certainly not in the second…"

"Three." Peeta mumbles around the pen cap in his mouth, interrupting their bickering.

"What, brainless?" Jo swivels her head toward the noise and narrows her eyes. After her dinner with Brue, this conversation is not amusing because she wishes she had killed him, or at least maimed him.

Peeta takes the cap out of his mouth and ticks them off on his fingers. "You have three categories. Kill it, fuck it, friend it."

Katniss chimes in, "And we're all just happy to be in your friend zone, Jo. Now sit down and tell us about your Thanksgiving."

Jo gives a huge sigh and pauses just before sitting on her bed. Her eyes shoot to Katniss and Peeta. "I'm not going to sit in a dried wet spot, am I, you two?"

_(A/N: Special thanks, as always, to BaronessKika for being an amazing beta and friend. If anyone wants to see a glimpse into the Johanna/Brue future, and doesn't mind a couple of spoilers, there are two outtakes posted up on tumblr at johannaismyspiritguide . tumblr . com. One is the _Camping GNO_. The other is the _Halloween GNO_.)_


	15. Jo Goes Home

_I do not own The Hunger Games._

_(A/N: This chapter is dedicated to my dad.)_

**Jo Goes Home**

"You are not going to make me listen to One Direction again, are you?" Finn glances at me like he's daring me to touch his iPhone again.

"But I love them." I loosen my seat belt and prop my bare feet up on his dash. I can't wait to go home and eat In –N- Out Burgers and my favorite greasy taco stand Mexican food with my brothers. We're going to play games all weekend and I'll listen to music with my dad; we can finally settle the debate over the Who versus Van Halen once and for all. I'm a little bummed that Katniss is going to miss out on all of the fun with my family, because I am determined that it's going to be an awesome weekend where I can kick back and forget about all of the recent developments on campus.

"Not all of us feel the same way you do about Niall Horan." Finn's voice doesn't sound like Finn and it makes me raise an eyebrow in his direction. He moves on to another song and it takes a second for Ryan Cabrera's _True_ to start playing.

I consider him for a moment because the Finn Odair I know is less a Ryan Cabrera guy and more of a Fall Out Boy sort. "Finn, what's up? Are you on the rag or constipated or something? Because we need to stop at the Target in Mission Viejo anyway so I can change into something _more appropriate_. Maybe we can get you some man-pons."

He laughs wryly and nods at my 'SC tank top and jeans. "Yeah, you need to hide your true colors from Barb or she'll punish you with another makeover. Although Black Friday is coming, so you may have to do that anyway."

I snort. Finn and I refer to my mom (step-mom, really) by her first name when we're alone in sort of a mini-rebellion. "Yeah, probably. I'll have to suffer through another bout of shopping. Probably for lingerie no doubt." When Finn doesn't respond with a snide comment, I frown. "What's up, Finn? I know that you think Barb's a MILF, so you're not even going to say anything when I mention her and lingerie in the same sentence?"

He thinks for a moment, carefully maneuvering through holiday traffic on the way to Dana Point. "Remember the question you asked me?"

I think for a second. "How do you keep your chest stubble from itching?"

Finn shakes his head. "No. Be serious for a minute, Jo. Remember when you asked if I had ever told someone that I loved them?"

I gape. "You said you've never said it."

"Yeah. I guess my question is, when you think you do, how do you bring it up? How do you say it?"

I pat his hand on the gear shift. "Odair, I know we've been friends for a long time. And I'm flattered, really…."

He bursts out laughing. "Come on, Jo. I'm being serious," he says when he recovers.

I turn almost completely around in my seat so I'm facing him. "Finn, fucking spill it: start at the beginning."

So Finn tells me about this girl in his physiology class who just happens to live in my dorm. They study together. Her name is Andrea, but she lets Finn call her Annie. She's evidently very quiet because she's been shuttled between boarding schools most of her life. When Finn describes her, I get a brief flash of a memory of the night he read Fifty Shades– Finn's reaction to a girl standing in the hallway. She's beautiful (of course) and thoughtful and sweet. Two of those things are not characteristics that I normally think are requirements for Finn.

At least this explains his weird, late night visits to my dorm.

The heartbreaking part of the story begins when Finn says that she won't date him. She thinks he's too much of a player and has said that he's just not her type.

"No offense, Finn, but you _are_ a player." I say. I don't want to be brutal or anything. I'm a firm believer, though, that if the girl is saying no then the answer is no. Finn doesn't need to turn into a stalker and there are a lot of girl fish in the proverbial sea.

He shakes his head adamantly. "I may be now. But, if she said yes, I would give all of that up."

I stare at him in silence for a minute. On the one hand, I've heard that plenty of times. On the other hand, I've never, ever heard it from Finnick Odair. And the look on his face… I think he's serious.

Fuck.

I respond honestly, still trying to process what he's saying. "Finn…I don't know what to say."

"Tell me how to win her over." His eyes are pleading.

"Well, whatever you do, don't tell her you love for the first time while you're having sex." We laugh together and he shoots me a sidelong glance.

"We're not having sex," he says quietly.

"What?" I couldn't be more taken aback than if he had told me he was growing a pair of wings. "Who are you and what have you done with my best friend?"

"We talked and she wants to wait until there's a commitment. But she won't agree to go out with me, so how am I supposed to show her that she should take a chance?"

I say the thing that's on the top of my mind. I'm pretty sure he won't like it, but it needs to be put out there. "Finn, are you sure you're not doing this to get in her pants because she keeps saying no?"

"Jo, I know what you're thinking, and that makes total sense. But I'm telling you…I'm telling you that it's not like that. I could really love this girl. Like the kind of love that ends up in a Nicholas Sparks movie."

I almost smack him at the reference: Finn _knows_ they are a guilty pleasure of mine: I watched _Dear John_ on repeat for almost an entire month. I get it, though. I get it.

I puzzle over it for the rest of the drive: how do we get her to give Finn a chance?

-o—

"Remember, Finn. Anything goes wrong with your dad and you can come over here tomorrow." I tell him as we sit in the car outside my house. Finn's dad is less than reliable when it comes to holidays. Hell, when it comes to most things. Finn's never sure if he's going to end up spending the holidays alone because of some film shooting schedule. The thing that truly boggles the mind, though, is that Finn never knows ahead of time. It's like his dad wakes up and just suddenly recalls that he has a son in some sort of alternate universe.

Finn smiles the practiced Odair smile and nods. "Think Barb's going to mind if I show her my new tattoo?"

I stop tying my shoelaces and stare at him. "What tattoo?"

His grin widens. "The one I'm getting later today. Want to tag along?"

Finn knows I'm not into tattoos on myself because I don't think I have the right body type for them. What I want, though, is a belly button stud and he knows it. He also knows that my mom and dad are never, ever going to let me get one.

Dick.

"You know that I wish I could but Mom and Dad would freak. What are you getting? And where?"

"It's a surprise." He smiles at me and winks, then considers my outfit. "Looking good, Mason. Love the dark green scarf. Did you borrow that from Katniss?"

I finger the scarf that my mom got me for Christmas last year. "You don't think it's too much?"

"For Barb? No way. You look just the right amount of L.L. Bean for her to leave you alone." He passes me his ICEE but I turn it down. All I need now is to spill electric blue sludge on my white shirt because that shit doesn't come off. "It's really no fair: you get a tattoo and I get a shopping spree."

Finn's smile fades. "At least you have a family."

I should be grateful, he's right. Finn spends a lot of time, alone, in a big house.

"Come over later." I grab his hand.

"Nah. I'll be ok. I'll text you tomorrow."

-o—

Finn's dad bails on him again, so he comes over to our house for Thanksgiving dinner. I can't wait to see his tattoo. The boys won't leave Finn alone, and my parents make it worse - they won't stop grilling us about school and boyfriends and girlfriends and classes. It's like they expect us to narc on ourselves. Finally, dinner is cleared and we get some time to go upstairs and play Xbox with the boys.

I sneak Finn into my room under the guise of playing him a new song that I love and demand, "Show me."

He smirks at me and very slowly raises his shirt while making striptease noises to reveal a trident that takes up almost the whole left side of his ribs. It's intricate and looks expensive and painful as hell.

"Oh my God, Finn. That's huge." I breathe. I move closer to take a look at the black edges which still look red because they're so fresh. "I don't think I've seen one this big up close."

"I know. It's impressive, isn't it? I think it's going to look even better when it's not so red."

A throat clears behind me. "What is going on in here?"

_Of course. _ My mom has impeccable timing. Finn struggles to pull his shirt down before she can see but it doesn't work.

"Finnick Odair, is that a tattoo?" My Mom crosses over to him and tugs on this shirt like he's a three year old so that she can see. Finn's face goes up in flames: I'm pretty sure he's thought of my mom taking his shirt off, but it was never quite like this in his fantasies.

"Yes Mrs. Mason." He holds still with his eyes shut.

"Well. Um. That's quite impressive." She pulls his shirt down, affected like all women are by Finn's chest. Her "mother" tone is back, though, when she asks, "Does your father know about this?"

"Mom, he just had it done." I break in. The grilling she's giving him is totally unnecessary. What Finn chooses to do with his body is his own decision.

"No, he doesn't." Finn looks at the floor.

"Don't you think he would be interested?" Her tone full of disapproval.

I can't believe she's going to guilt trip him on Thanksgiving when his father couldn't be bothered to show up. "Mom, this is the same guy who didn't even come home to spend a planned Thanksgiving with his son. Do you really think Finn's tattoo is going to interest him at all?"

"Don't disrespect Finn's father that way, Johanna. We don't know what kept him. I think he should know about this."

"Why? Finn's old enough to make the decision to do this and he paid for it out of his own pocket. Why does his dad need to know?"

"Jo…" Finn looks from me to my mom, clearly trying to break in.

"No, Finn. It's not right." I glare at my mom.

"Johanna, someday you'll understand what it's like to be a parent..."

"Oh, please. When I am a parent someday, I'll be there for my kid. Not traipsing all over the globe making money and forgetting I even have one. Do you think Finn's dad is going to lecture him via Skype, Mom? I'm sure a timeout from half a globe away is going to scare him…"

She assesses me quietly. "I don't know what's gotten into you. I came to tell you that we're leaving for the outlets at midnight." She shakes her head, "I'm going back downstairs to enjoy a slice of pie and we will continue this conversation later. Finn, I'll send your dad an email later tonight."

I snort at the closed door and turn back to Finn, who is looking at me strangely. "She's such a bitch."

"Jo, what's gotten into you? You would have never, ever disagreed with Barb to her face." He crosses his arms across his chest.

I shrug. "I just think it's time I told her how wrong she is."

He smirks. "She's not wrong: my dad is gonna be pissed. It's part of the reason I did it."

"So you _want_ him to find out?" I'm shocked.

"Of course. That's like the icing on the cake. He finds out, but I'm too far away for him to do anything about it. It evens us up for every holiday he skipped." Finn smiles his devilishly boyish smile at me.

"You are a conniving son of a bitch, Finn Odair." I smile back at him.

-o—

"Johanna, do you want to tell me what is going on?" It's three a.m. and my mom and I have stopped for a Starbucks at the outlet mall to restore our energy. It's probably the one time a year I allow myself to drink coffee – a mocha with an extra shot of espresso, to be precise. It's the only way I can keep up with my mom, who is tireless when it comes to shopping and as organized about it as a Marine Drill Sargeant. These shopping trips used to be fun when I was fifteen and sixteen and wanted some mother/daughter bonding time. Now, they're just exhausting. Who wants to shop for twelve hours?

"What?" I'm not even sure what Barb is talking about: my feet hurt, my eyes can barely focus. Whomever it was who says that nothing good happens after three a.m. is dead on right.

"Your swearing, your attitude, your running before it's light out, your drinking…What is going on? Are you on drugs or something?"

I splutter a little through my mocha whipped cream. "My what?" Out of everything she's listed, it's her knowing about my drinking that causes my mental stumble.

"We know about your drinking. We saw a video of you at a party that someone posted to Facebook recently. It looked like a real rager. Really, Johanna? As if your father doesn't have enough pressure, we have to see Finnick carrying you over his shoulder and then you talking about puking. You looked like hell and you could barely stand. We could see your underwear, for God's sake! I'm sure your father was mortified. We're worried that his detractors in the school district will see it and it will cause problems. So I'll ask you again…What is going on?"

She's on fire, absolutely furious. I would be amazed at her utter luminescence if it weren't directed at _me _because a pissed off Barb is not a good thing.

"Nothing." I scramble for something to tell her. Somehow I don't think I want to confess to the running, the food thing (whatever it is), Brian, the frat parties, and the fact that I'm seeing a therapist. I know that will just be the icing on the cake and I'll be lucky to be allowed to go back to school.

"Is it that roommate of yours?" Barb drums her perfectly manicured nails on her venti, half-caf Americano.

"Katniss?" I almost choke. Intimating that Katniss is a bad influence is like being afraid of Bambi. "No. No, it's not Katniss."

"Then it's Finnick, isn't it? He's into drugs or something and he's dragging you down with him? Are you dating him?"

"_Finn?_ Oh God. No! Finn's like a brother." The thought actually makes me want to gag a little bit. Finn's too important to me to fuck.

"Help me to understand. We thought that, after making it through the horrible time we all had when Carys died as a family and becoming closer because of it, that we would skip all of this… this teenager angst."

As much as it stings, to think that my mom and dad discussed me and how I was handling Carys's loss because I thought no one could see how hard it was for me, it's harder to watch the video she seems to have bookmarked on her phone's browser: it's on a friend of a friend's page, I'm tagged by name, and it's all captured in about five minutes of video: me singing like a bleating goat, me being carried, the fight with Finn and Brian, and my announcement of impending puke-age. I look like I'm coated in purple Popsicle and not in a good way.

"You're not supposed to think anything of it. My grades are good. It was a one-time slip up; I hadn't eaten much that day and the stuff hit me harder than I expected."

"Yeah, I figured that." Mom says drily. "We're worried about you. This is your safety we're talking about. Your father and I couldn't bear it if we got a call from school about you… what if something happened to you, Jo? We already worry about your grades and now we need to worry about your downtime too. Honey, we love you and miss you. We only want what's best." She starts to sniff and a part of me shrivels inside as the guilt bears down. I don't want to be another thing to worry about when she's already lost so much. Another part of me, though, the part of me struggling to be free, wonders if this isn't just a ploy to control me into behaving the way she wants. The way I'm _supposed _to.

And I'm pissed on some level that it's working, because I spend the next several hours letting her dress me in pink outfits that I hate.

-o-

My Dad wakes me up from my "Black Friday recovery nap" very late that afternoon.

"Jo, mail call." He hands me a small card, then sits down on my bed. "Did you and Mom have fun?"

I yawn. It takes me a split second to recall the lecture and the guilt that accompanied it. "Yeah," I lie.

He pats my leg. "Good. Why don't you get up and we can take a ride to the marina?"

I nod and stretch, telling him I'll meet him in 15 minutes. When he leaves, I flip the envelope over in my hands, searching for a return address – who would send me actual mail? There is no return address and my own is hand written in a large and angular cursive.

I don't like mysteries (I know, shocking, right?) so I rip into the envelope to expose a lovely monogram in black and white that I don't recognize. I flip the card open and a business card falls to the bed. _Angus MacLeod, MacLeod Construction, _it says.

The Lion wrote to me? I open the card and the masculine script jumps out at me. I can almost read the brogue.

_Hello, Lass. I am jotting you a quick note to tell you how thoroughly I enjoyed meeting you the other day. My grandson has good taste in people and I hope he chooses to keep you around. You will be good for him._

_More importantly, you aren't afraid to take chances and say what you think. I admire that in anyone, and it's rare to see in young people today. Don't let that change. _

_If you should need anything, please don't hesitate to contact me. _

I stare at the card for a minute and grab a piece of notebook paper. It doesn't make me more than five minutes to jot down everything about my discussion with my mom and how it made me feel and how I wish I could be myself around my family. I thank him for letting me unload on him and shove the whole thing in an envelope.

When I meet my Dad downstairs, he stamps it for me and tells me we'll drop it in the mailbox on our way out.

-o-

My Dad and I have taken rides together as long as I can remember. He would load me up in the car and we would stop – first for milkshakes or soda, now for coffee or tea – and we would head to the marina to watch the boats and the ocean. Sometimes would we talk about school or music or our family. Sometimes we would just sit and think. It's been a staple of our relationship, a safe zone for discussions about boys and politics and history and religion. It's where some of my best memories were made.

We stop at Starbucks and joke on the way to the marina about how long it will take for our drinks to cool, park the car and sit on a bench. The quiet of the place as it gets to be near sunset seeps into my head and my heart; it quiets the static of the earlier hurt almost immediately. I breathe deeply and wonder if Katniss's woods do the same thing for her. I know for a fact that the pool does something akin to it for Finn. Don't we all need a quiet place to meditate?

And then it dawns on me that I am different from my friends in one regard: my father not only gave me this place as a gift, but he still shares it with me. This tradition is not something I do in his honor, like Katniss, or to emphasize his distance, like Finn. This single thought has me turning to look at my father and really _see _him.

"What?" He glances my way when he senses my perusal.

I shake my head. How do I explain to him that he's sharply in focus as a person to me for the first time in a long time?

He looks back out at the sunset on the water and takes a tentative sip of his coffee. "I'm pretty sure your mom mentioned the video, didn't she?"

He doesn't look at me and I immediately feel the crushing weight of shame. He's disappointed in me, just like she said. He clears his throat and it immediately draws my attention to his hand rubbing the stubble on his jaw. He looks tired. A fresh wave of guilt crashes over me as I steel myself for the lecture.

"Jo, we want you to have a good time at school. It's the reason we didn't send you to U.C. Irvine and make you live at home: it's critical for you to be able to screw up things without us hovering over you like helicopter parents. I see it all the time, kids who can't move without a parent breathing down their neck about the fact that they wipe their ass wrong. It's horrible. I realize Facebook makes that harder. Did she flip out at you about the video?" He turns to look at me.

I nod, tightlipped, gripping my chai tea latte with heavy foam so tightly that I think I might dent the cup.

He presses his lips together. "I'm not going to disagree with your mom, but I am going to say this: I spread some of my own wild oats and I'm glad I did." When he sees the looks of utter horror on my face, he laughs. "Now, Jo, don't be grossed out. I'm only telling you this because you need to know that this is the time for you to do all that. Not when you're thirty and you want to move home because you weren't allowed to make a mistake or two at eighteen. Do I wish it wasn't on camera? Yes. But even with the cameras – and they can follow you forever, by the way – you still need some latitude to find out what you like and what you hate and to screw some things up."

I'm quiet as his words soak into the knot of anxiety in my chest and eat away at it until there's only a tiny little ball of hardness left. Finally, I clear my throat and say, "But, your job… Mom said that you caught some bad press from the video."

"Ah, Jo, she brought that up? Yeah, there were some allegations, but you're out of the house now and eighteen. These are your choices, not mine. If you choose to dumb things on tape, I can't stop you. Hell, I took heat because you were a cheerleader too. I'll get over it." He stares out at the water again.

I want to reach across to him and take his hand. I want him to put his arm around me and tell me that he's not disappointed in me. He doesn't, though, and we stare as the sun sets on another perfect southern California day.

-o-

"What do you mean you're going back early?" I rasp into the phone on Saturday morning.

Finn sounds like hell. "I'm going back to school. You're welcome to come with." When I don't answer him right away, he continues in a low tone, "My dad…let's just say we had quite the conversation last night."

"Oh, Finn. Fuck him! He's not even there. I'm sorry." I can't keep the heat from coloring my own words.

Finn sighs deeply. "Jo, he's really upset. He says that the video is going to affect his P.R. and that he can't afford it right now and then he flipped out about the tattoo, too. I told him that I have to work, so I'm just going to head back to school and lay low for a while Do you want to come?"

"And leave all this?" I laugh. My family may drive me nuts, but I miss my little brothers so fiercely that I want to spend as much time as I can with them. They are growing up so fast. So I say seriously, "I was hoping to stay through tomorrow. I can take the train back if you can pick me up. Are you sure you're going to be alright?"

"I'll be fine. And that stuff we talked about on the way down? Just forget it. Obviously, I've got bigger problems than a girl who won't give me the time of day."

"Finn, come on. If you like her, you don't just shut that off because of a fight with your dad…"

"Jo, it's fine. Text me your train time and I'll come get you tomorrow. I've got to go."

When he disconnects, I want to scream out my frustration with his dad, my mom, all of it.

_(A/N: Special thanks to BaronessKika, Soamazinghere, honeylime08, and Sighing39 for all your beta work and comments. You're like my very own, personal Justice League. If you're looking for some other great AU stories, Flesh and Bone and The Endless in Between are wonderful.)_


	16. Return to Paradise

_I do not own The Hunger Games._

**Return to Paradise**

I use the train time to jot in what I call my "Jo Journal". It doesn't take long to catalog some of the less fine moments of the holiday, along with my entire food intake and miles run. I do, however, add a little something about the trip to the marina with my dad because it's a moment I would like to hang onto forever.

I sit and stare out the window, trying my best not to talk to any of the drunken partiers on the San Diego to L.A. weekend train, my mind can't help but wander back to Finn's question: _How_ _do you make someone like you?_

That, of course, takes me back to Katniss and Peeta. She had been sicker than a dog when I left for Thanksgiving. I re-read the phone text conversations to see if I can piece together what they were actually doing, instead of the poorly scripted porn I have in my head. Call it a puzzle, call it a distraction from the ride, call it a way to dissuade other riders from talking to me, I want to know what is going on with those two. _Something _must have happened for Katniss to stop responding as abruptly as she did.

Me (to Peeta): _What size were boxers do you wear? _

Peeta: _Happy Thanksgiving to you too. Why do you need to know?_ Peeta must have wondered why I'm asking him about the size of his junk. I'm pretty sure the question mortified him. I don't get it, though; if I was sporting a Gatling gun in my pants, I'd broadcast it to the world on Tumblr. Probably with pictures.

Me: _Because they were comfy. I might buy myself a pair. _I left out the fact that I was just going to steal his if he didn't tell me.

Peeta: _Large. Have you checked in on Katniss?_ Aha! I knew he was packing a Sequoia in those jeans! Because those hips of his ain't a large…. I wonder if Katniss realizes that he's toting more than a fun-sized candy bar?

The more interesting part of the text is that Peeta didn't know Katniss was sick when I left. That means that someone told him. Which means, of course, that he probably rode in on his smoking-hot, black ride to come to her rescue. In our dorm room. While she was by herself. I briefly lose myself in a doctor fantasy that has a faceless guy in a lab coat, rubbing Vick's VapoRub all over my naked breasts, but I shake myself back to reality and put it away for later when I remember that I'm on a train. Instead, I flip to the Katniss side of the conversation.

Me (to Katniss): _He's there, isn't he?_ It was a long shot. Maybe he just knew she was sick and had dropped off some soup or something. Come to think of it, that's totally a Peeta Mellark move. He drops off some soup, she invites him in… Cue Marvin Gaye.

Katniss: _Maybe_. I can almost hear her flirty smirk. Bitch. She knows that's how to make me curious. That one word, though, also tells me that she's feeling well enough to joke around and that the answer isn't "No." Actually, with an answer like that, it tells me that he's either there, or had been there and left. Most of all, it tells me that she wanted him there.

I flip back to the Peeta conversation.

Me (to Peeta): _What's going on with you and Katniss? You're not taking care of her are you? When are you going to get some game, brainless?_ I was just trolling with that comment to try to triangulate his position. I was secretly hoping it's on top of Katniss, but I doubt that he would have been texting me back if that were the case.

I poked at Katniss at the same time. One of them was going to give me some information, right?

Me (to Katniss): _Please tell me you aren't sick and just used this as an excuse to fuck his brains out._

Katniss: _I'll never tell._ I want to pump my fist in the air because that response means she absolutely wanted to bone him.

Me: _How big is he? Because those boxers were roomy. _

What? They were! We've already established that "large" means a super-sized crotch rocket hides in his pants. It's a little like Nessie: rumored to be large but uncorroborated.

Katniss: _I'll bet he's a large. How's your Thanksgiving weekend?_ OK. So maybe she hadn't ridden his giant purple-helmeted warrior of love yet, or she wouldn't have changed the subject. But she didn't balk, so I'll bet she wanted to check him out up close and personal.

Me:_ Don't change the subject. There're condoms in my top dresser drawer._ More trolling. Exactly how up close did she want to get?

Katniss: _I'll tell you about my weekend when you get back - you're not missing much._ Yeah. Like her alone time with Mellark doesn't top my shopping spree. Then again, if I were there, she wouldn't have had alone time with him. And they _are _alone. Katniss may seem demure, but all that time in the woods means she's hiding a wildcat. Which means I had to ask…

Me: _You are just fucking with me, right? The two of you are not boning in our room right now?_

And that's when she stopped responding. Which means that I'm dying over here. It's a long shot that the two of them had Marvin Gaye playing all weekend, but it's a possibility. And that means that I could be walking into anything.

My phone buzzes, bringing me back to earth instead of staring off into space and imagining all sorts of embarrassing scenarios with Katniss and Peeta.

Finn to me: _I can't come get you – had to work. Sending a back-up._

I nod at the phone, actually thrilled at the possibility that he is sending Peeta. That would give me a chance to get him alone and ask him some questions. Peeta is totally obvious when it comes to his relationship with Katniss, so I can get an idea pretty quickly if I need to wash my sheets and have a HazMat crew come detox my dorm room, and I don't mean because Katniss was sick.

-o—

The train pulls into the station and I wait for most of the passengers to disembark. I grab my things and make my way down the ramp and into the tunnel below the tracks, picking my way over the terracotta tile. After a hundred or so steps, I realize that my light-pink espadrilles, which Barb had paired with a pink and white dress – a slip with a lace over-dress – are totally impractical for walking large distances towing a roll-along piece of luggage. Come to think of it, the whole outfit is probably ridiculous for Los Angeles in late November after the sun has set and I slip off the shoes to carry them so I don't end up with a broken ankle.

When the tunnel ends in Union Station proper, the ceiling vaulting above me like a cathedral, and couples greeting each other all around with passionate hugs and kisses, I feel like I am in a Bogart film. At least I'm not underdressed. My heart sighs a bit that I don't have someone here to act out an epic love scene with here, even as I scan for Peeta. I reach into my purse to see if he has sent a text message with an ETA when I hear someone call my name.

And it's most definitely _not_ Peeta.

Fuck.

Brue makes his way over to me and I swear I can almost see us in another reality, me letting my bag and shoes drop to the tile floor with a thunk while I run into his arms. He swings me around and his lips crush mine. He smells like a blend of baby powder and some sort of spicy deodorant as I thread my fingers through his hair…

"Jo?" Brue asks. He stands right in front of me.

I blink to clear the passionate image out of my head. "Brue. Hey. Happy Thanksgiving. How'd you end up on pick up?"

"Yeah… you too. I texted Finn and let him know I was heading back from the Hollywood Hills and he said you needed a ride. I volunteered." He gestures to me to hand over my luggage handle, so I do. We walk in silence to the front door where we pause so I can slide my feet into my heels.

When we get to his car and I slide inside, he clears his throat. "You look great. I was thinking that, maybe we could grab dinner before we head back to school."

It's not a question, really, but I nod anyway. "Sure. Sounds good." I'm not sure why I have butterflies in my stomach. After all, it's not like it's a date or anything. The butterflies get worse when I notice him checking out my legs and I have to stop my hands from pulling my skirt down to cover more of them: let him look. It's not like I'm indecent.

-o—

We finish dinner at Chichen Itza, an amazing Mexican food place a couple of blocks from campus. My Tamal Colado is so moist that it's almost like eating a corn pudding with smoky chicken. It's balanced with a counterpoint of the Jicama and Naranja Salad - a sweet and crunchy palate cleanser with a hot, cayenne after-kick. It's an amazing meal and we have some great conversation about our respective holidays. I describe my brothers and explain how I ended up with even more pink in my wardrobe, he explains how the Lion has a family gathering that eclipses the size of some small European countries. We fall into a companionable silence that has me again telling myself that this is not a date, when I notice Brue's brooding at me over his glass of iced tea in a way reminiscent of Gale Hawthorne.

When I can't take it anymore, I demand, "What?"

He fiddles with a packet of Splenda for a moment, then stills and meets my eyes steadily, like he's coming to a decision. "You need to ease up on the Peeta thing."

"Excuse me?" It's the last thing I expect him to say. Like, even behind him asking to sleep with me. The date-butterflies, or whatever they are, fizzle out in my stomach.

"The Peeta thing. With Katniss. You need to ease up on throwing them together all the time."

"How is this any business of yours? It's just all in fun."

He shakes his head, "No, it's not, not for Peeta. You're cock-blocking him and hes' a fraternity brother of mine."

"I'm _what?_" That's a pretty heavy accusation in my book, never mind the fact that I've never even imagined Brue MacLeod using the word _cock-block_.

Brue's tone is matter of fact. "Look, I appreciate that you're trying to pair him up with the _love of his life_ or whatever. But I had never heard him utter the name Katniss Everdeen before October. He was doing fine and had his pick of girls. Now, he's miserable all the time and he lives like a monk. Frankly, the whole frat house has taken up a lube collection for him, that's how much he's angsturbating, and you keep throwing what he can't have in his face. We're young and he should be out there having a good time, not saving himself for some girl who barely gives him the time of day."

"Katniss gives him more than the time of day. So, they're not together yet: some people take time for the slow burn to heat up. Besides, don't you think this is Peeta's decision? Who he waits for?" I tap my fingers against my glass of ice water, furious at this conversation. I'll freak out over Brue referencing lube later.

Brue shakes his head. "She doesn't. If you weren't so in love with the idea of them getting together, you would see what I see: she doesn't really spend much time with him. You're filling his head with this idea that she's coming around and, if she is, it will be next year before it happens. All the while, he is watching every one of his friends hook up, including Gale." He shoots me a look.

Fuck. He knows about Gale. And what about Brue? Does he hook up?

"…and you get to put it out there and go back to your boyfriend who conveniently lives in your dorm. You're pushy, Jo."

I pause for a minute, despite wanting to breathe fire at him, and I don't think it's because of the hot sauce. The texts, the conversation about the tree, Peeta's face and later Katniss's voice when we talked about the Fifty Shades of Gray incident…those are not the marks of people who are oblivious to each other. Am I being pushy? Well, yeah. But I tell myself it's only because they deserve each other.

My jaw locks, "And if I don't back off?"

Brue gives a sigh. "Well, I don't think it's fair that you're getting laid and he's not."

The sentence hangs in the air.

"What are you suggesting?" I stare at him with narrowed eyes.

"I'm suggesting that you take a vow of celibacy: you don't get some until Peeta does."

I'm glad I haven't taken a sip of water, because I would have spit it out. "What?"

Brue continues, "If the two of them end up together in any fashion, you're free to do whomever you like. Until then, you need to feel what it's like to be him and want what you can't have. Maybe then you'll get an appreciation for what he's going through and drop it. It's only fair."

"What's the time limit?" I'm curious, after all the thought he seems to have put into this, what sort of limits he's put on it.

"If they're not together by the end of the school year, then you can do whatever you like, with whomever you like." He sits back with a grin on his face.

"That's like six months of celibacy." My mouth gapes open and shut.

"Aren't you confident that they'll end up together?" He asks, casually inspecting a cuticle.

Fuck. You. Brue.

I shake my head. "You are a bastard. Ok. If they haven't boned by the time the Jacaranda bloom, I'll admit defeat publicly and quit matchmaking. Until then… I'll do it. Starting tomorrow."

He raises an eyebrow. "Big plans tonight, Jo?" At my smirk, he laughs, "Ok, Ok. I like it. It's a little Disney-esque, but it works. Deal."

I hold out my hand steadily for Brue to shake. He has no idea that I'm already plotting ways to up the ante and get those two together in time for me to ring in the New Year with a bang. I think back to the text messages from Friday – hell, they could already be together!

-o—

It's probably not shocking that I'm not in the best mood when I get to my room. I feel a little bit better though, when I hear Everdeen's peals of laughter and have to demand that Peeta and Finn tell me what is going on when I see them holding her down.

Finn dodges the explanation by blaming it on Peeta and asks me about the train ride and Brue, which I most certainly do _not_ want to discuss. Fuck Brue MacLeod and his crazy idea of enforced celibacy. I push it out of my mind to focus on the issue at hand: exactly what did Katniss and Peeta do for Thanksgiving?

So I ask, and we all talk and laugh about the holiday. I notice that Finn puts down his pen to tell a story about my brothers beating him at Xbox, but Peeta doesn't. Peeta keeps his pen moving, drawing details of something that looks like a flower on Katniss's hip and outer thigh and she's stopped laughing. It's not quite foreplay, but it's still a pretty intimate gesture. I wonder if Peeta notices that she's no longer ticklish when he's touching her.

I get up to put my things away from the weekend while they rag on me about Brue. I wisely hold my tongue because, in a game of "fuck him or kill him" I'm plotting how best to dig out Brue MacLeod's heart with a spoon. Finn actually texts him to make sure he's alright and I cross to the mini fridge to put my Mallomars inside.

What? They're better cold.

Imagine my surprise when it looks like the take-and-eat food area of a Costco.

"What the hell is all this?" I motion to the containers that seem to have yellow pudding, some sort of soup and what looks disturbingly like half a pie in them.

Katniss laughs and says in a voice not quite fully recovered from being sick, "Peeta brought over some leftovers."

"Gee, you think? Is that half a pumpkin pie?" I gesture to the fridge.

Peeta blushes a little. "It's actually pumpkin chiffon rather than the more classic pumpkin custard."

I don't even let him finish before I'm handing out forks and pulling the container out of the fridge. "As long as it has the words _pumpkin_ and _pie_ in it, that's good enough for me."

I slide the container onto the floor and we don't bother with plates. The first bite does not disappoint: it's creamy and cool with just the right hint of pie spice. Lighter than a traditional pumpkin pie, I'm pretty sure I could devour the entire piece. The crust alone cements Peeta as a Pied Piper.

Get it?

Finn watches me for a second. "Glad to see you've found your appetite again, Jo."

"Mmm," I say as I take another bite, "This isn't all I'm hungry for. You kids going to be okay down here by yourselves tonight?" I keep my tone casual, but I'm really directing the question at Katniss and Peeta. Do they want to be alone?

Katniss blushes a little and looks at Peeta under her lashes. "I'll be okay."

Ah. So they haven't done the nasty yet. Or, if they have, he's not so into her that any night without a roommate makes him yell, "Game on!" I smile and wink at Katniss, silently willing her to invite Peeta to stay, and slide my espadrilles back on my feet. With a jaunty wave, I head upstairs.

I have to mentally fortify myself as I stand in front of Brian's door, preparing to knock: we haven't said more than a few tense words since the night of the frat party and the Technicolor yawn seen 'round the world. Hey, I can call it that – it's does have almost one hundred _likes_.

He opens the door, although he is not smiling. I feel such relief that he opened the damn door -such a rush of affection for his familiar face – that I rush in and throw my arms around him. He smells of green apple shampoo and Irish Spring. I breathe the scent of him where his neck meets his shoulder and close my eyes, tightening my arms around his neck; we may not be perfect, but my body recognizes his like a long-lost puzzle piece.

He sighs heavily in my ear. His arms loop around my waist as the door clicks shut.

"Jo…" His voice has a cautious note to it. Whatever he wants to say, I don't want to hear it.

"I've missed you." I breathe against his neck. I'm suddenly trembling with fear over his rejection of me. I can't bear to hear all the ways we don't work and I brace myself for when he inevitably pushes me away.

"You have?" He gives a small laugh.

I'm surprised to hear a reaction like that; like my words were the last thing he expected. I sag against him when I feel his lips nuzzle next to my ear. It makes the next words easy to say and full of genuine emotion. "So much."

I feel his lips trace my collarbone right above the lace of the dress, then linger at my pulse point before traveling up to my ear. "Me too." He nibbles my earlobe and I run my fingers through his short hair. "Did you wear that dress just for me?"

I lean my head back and giggle in relief: leave it to Brian to think that I dressed hours ago for nothing more than his pleasure. I wish I had thought of it, to be honest, when Barb suggested this outfit. He must take it as a yes because his lips travel to mine. He tastes like peppermint and it clashes a little with my pumpkin, but neither of us seems to mind. I lose myself in the feel of his shoulders, the stroking of his tongue. I know him by heart; I can trace his outline in the dark or with my eyes shut.

So when he clicks off the lights and backs me up until his desk is against my butt, I know where this is leading. I don't mind.

His hands slide under my dress and nudge me apart. I'm already wet and bracing my hands on the desk for his mouth. I gasp when his tongue parts me with one long lick and shorter strokes that quickly have my hips moving to bring his tongue closer. The flat of his tongue laps at me gently. Carefully, he slides one finger, then two inside me, all the while keeping his tongue and hot breath just off-center of where I need them most. I'm almost thankful, though, because I don't want to fall apart without him inside me.

I push at his shoulders insistently, unable to actually verbalize what I want. He knows, though. He always knows how to get me teetering on the edge.

Which is why I'm surprised when he pauses for a minute after sliding his pants off and pulls out a foil packet.

He quickly sheaths himself in the condom. I shiver from the coolness of the lubricant for a second, but it's quickly replaced with a moan as he slides inside me. I wrap my legs around his waist as we watch each other come apart in the dim light of the streetlamp streaming in the window.

"Are you staying?" he asks me afterward, as he ties off the condom and straightens his clothes.

My tongue feels heavy in my mouth as I watch him, so I nod instead of answer.

We make quick work of getting ready for bed as a thousand thoughts spin around in my head. When we climb onto his lofted bed, I spy a three-pack of condoms next to his alarm clock. Why is he suddenly wearing them? I'm on the Pill – have been since high school – and he's never worn one with me except for our first time. With the Student Health Center readily accessible, it had been easy to get tested and give each other our results. So why switch back without discussing it with me first? It's not like I'm against them or anything. It just seems like an odd change to make without a conversation.

We talk a bit about our holidays but it's almost like we're just being polite rather than the fun sharing of experiences that happened downstairs. He doesn't laugh when I talk about my brothers having a belching contest and I wonder at the fact that his Grandparents sound really stiff when he describes their whole dinner. It sounds like everything had to be perfect.

Finally, I can't hold back any longer. I turn to face him and ask the burning question that won't leave me alone, "Brian, why did you wear a condom?"

"Jo, I'm tired."

Never mind that a second ago he was awake and telling me about crudité. I feel my jaw clench. I don't care how tired he is, if he can be balls deep in me an hour ago, he can talk to me about his choice of protection.

"Come on, Brian, talk to me."

He looks at me for a moment. I'm transported back to the second he told me he loved me because this look feels just as pivotal. Like we're standing on another relationship precipice.

"You've been acting so strangely and it's obvious that you've got other male _friends_. I thought that I would be as safe as I can be. To protect myself."

The way he stresses the word "friends" makes me want to scream.

"Are you saying that you think I'm sleeping around?" My voice is a low growl. It would make sense based on what he thinks he saw at the frat party before we left for break.

"I'm saying that, if we're going to continue to sleep together, I need to be responsible."

He doesn't mean responsible for us, though. He means responsible for him. Responsible for us would be palatable, flattering even. But the fact that he spins it about him means that those millimeters of latex might as well represent the Grand Canyon between us.

I shiver. "Would you rather break up?" I say the words I've been dreading all night.

He runs a hand down the side of my face. "No. I love you, Johanna."

"I love you too." I say, perhaps more strongly than I should, relieved at his lack of rejection. It doesn't make what comes next any easier for me to say. "Maybe…maybe we should take a break from sex, though. Until you feel like you can trust me again." It's not the condoms I have problem with, it's the lack of trust. I'd rather not have sex with someone who can't believe good things about me. Plus, it helps me to follow through on the deal I made earlier with Brue.

He pauses for a full thirty beats of my heart before I hear him sigh and agree.

His arms slide around me and his breathing evens out awhile later and it's even longer until my eyelids droop. I stare at the ceiling, willing myself to sleep and feeling more alone than I have in a long time.

_(A/N: Special thanks to BaronessKika for being an awesome sounding board and beta and Doc for mechanics and putting up with a little bit lemon. Come check out tumblr for this story: johannaismyspiritguide dot tumblr dot com if you want to see a picture of the Tamal Colado from Chichen Itza.)_


	17. Standing Up for What's Right

_I do not own The Hunger Games._

**Standing up for What's Right**

I've fallen into a routine with Dr. Aurelius: we meet after my last class on Tuesdays, then I head over to the frat house for Tuesday dinners with Peeta, Katniss, and the gang. Dr. Aurelius irks me with his pointed questions and bland expressions that see right through my attempts at topic avoidance. I'm usually in a bad mood when I finally leave, so I like the fact that my friends help bring me back some semblance of normalcy. The last thing I need is to go back to my dorm room and mope.

The Jo Journal continues to grow and Dr. A. has heard all about my cease fire with Brian. I've explained that I'm using it as an excuse to take some time and think through whether or not I love him. I have to be honest, though, I miss getting laid regularly. Dr. A. doesn't seem shocked when I admit that to him. I swear that he attempts to stare me down with narrowed eyes when I follow it up with a compliment on his physique.

What? Do I need to remind you that he looks like Jeremy Fucking Renner? Plus, it's totally normal to have some sort of crush on your therapist. I'm just lucky that mine doesn't look like a troll. Sometimes after a session, I've been so pissed at him that I've gone back to my dorm and watched the Jeremy Renner kissing scene from _The Unusuals_, or ogled him in his really tight gray suit in _Mission Impossible 4._ It's my little way of balancing out any wrong I feel has happened.

My appointment is right after Peeta's. It was weird the first time we bumped into each other and I could tell by the way he kept looking around that he was glad Everdeen wasn't around. We've gotten used to passing each other in the hallway. He'll smile and maybe wave and I'll give him a tight smile in return. I don't think either of us is in the mood for chit-chat. We haven't talked about the weird coincidence of the timing of our sessions to each other and I can't tell if it's good or bad that we've developed our own "therapy code".

I'm still running, most of the time with Brue. I spend half of the time cajoling him into doing more miles or running faster and he always responds by telling me how pushy I am.

Duh. Like that's news to anyone?

Tonight's a typical Tuesday: Katniss and Peeta are intent in a discussion of her pants – and that's not a euphemism! She's brought over the jeans that Peeta and Finn decorated the night I came back from Thanksgiving and she's explaining the problem. She doesn't want the drawing to fade, since it's already partially obliterated by the one washing she's given them so far. Peeta asks if she'd consider dry cleaning them. When she nods, he asks her to leave them after dinner and promises he'll touch up the damage that the crappy dorm washers have inflicted. Good thing Katniss uses crappy detergent and not Tide, or he'd be re-working the whole thing.

Peeta disappears upstairs to presumably put Katniss's wearable canvas in his room. Brue, who's just gotten back from practice, gives me a searing look before I can make a comment about Peeta finally managing to get into Everdeen's pants. I shoot him a dirty look but keep my mouth shut nonetheless. After all, the goal is to get more than her pants lying across his bed, not to embarrass them both.

Gale pulls the lasagna from the oven in an oddly domestic gesture. Katniss serves the salad while I slice up the bread and Brue gets us cups of water. Finn and Madge divide up silverware and we all sit down to eat in a flurry of laughter and jockeying for who sits where. We finally dig into the meal and it's as good as everything else Peeta has ever made: the bread is perfectly chewy and warm, mellow and sweet chunks of roasted garlic making butter superfluous. It is an excellent vehicle for the tomato sauce with undertones of basil and notes of oregano and cheesy béchamel.

I want to roll in it so that my whole body can feel the way my mouth does.

Finn breaks the reverent quiet as he clears his throat and asks, "Hey. Um…anyone willing to give me some advice on how to show a girl you're interested in her?"

I hear Madge gasp. "Finn? You like someone? Really?" She sighs heavily and I roll my eyes at her for being such a romantic sap.

"Yeah. And I'm not sure how to show her that I'm interested, like, for real."

Peeta is the first to answer. "How about finding something you both like to do? Is she into art? Because there's the great exhibit at the Getty coming up…"

I don't think I'm imagining how his eyes rest on Everdeen when he mentions it, but only for a second.

Gale says what I'm thinking, "Oh, I bet I know something they both like to _do_." He waggles his eyebrows and I grin at him: we don't always see eye to eye, but Hawthorne does have moments of brilliance.

"No, no. Come on, you guys. Finn's being serious." Katniss hasn't taken her eyes off of his while the rest of us are goofing around. When she answers, she talks slowly, "I think it's about little things that show her you're thinking of her and trying to make a connection."

Madge lobbies, "But a grand gesture is wonderful too. You could play her favorite song on a boom box under her window."

I snort. "Madge, no one even owns a boom box these days. Stop watching John Cusack movies."

"You have a suggestion, Jo?" It's Brue, and his smirk makes me want to flick an olive from my salad in his direction.

The funny thing is that I don't really have any ideas: my limited boyfriend experiences have happened when I've made the first move or they've done something overt, like corner me in a coat closet at a party. I know Finn can't do anything with that in his current predicament but it's all I've got, "You need to make sure you're attracted to each other."

Madge shakes her head, "God, Jo. Do you have a romantic bone in your body?"

I'm almost ready to blurt out that romance and boning have nothing to do to one another when Finn butts in, "Madge, leave her alone. We know that Jo has a one-track mind: even her Facebook page doesn't have _Like_ buttons. It has little icons that look like dicks." He laughs, obviously knowing that I'm no help.

Brue mentions a concert as a way to get her to open up. Gale uses movies as his go-to device. The brainstorm goes on and on until the ideas get sillier as our dinners disappear.

Finally, Finn can't help laughing when Brue suggests after hearing that she likes the water too, "Challenge her to a race in the pool."

The conversation immediately devolves into Finn defending his swimming abilities and Brue telling him to prove it the next time they're at the pool together. I might really be into the homo-erotic image the conversation evokes if I weren't so distracted by my total lack of game. It actually stings a little bit, everyone knowing how little help I can be for this question. Like I'm…well…not a girl. Or like girls are something that you put some amount of work into and _poof!_ the girl falls in love because she can't help it, like an exchange of goods.

-o—

By the time we're walking back to the dorms, I've lapsed into silence. I'm surprised when Everdeen doesn't comment on my lack of conversation, except that her freaking phone keeps signaling new text messages. At one point, just as we get to our dorm room, she actually giggles while her thumbs dance over the keyboard.

I change for bed and brush my teeth. When I return, she is sitting on the bed in red Rudolph reindeer pajamas, typing furiously.

"Jo?" She asks when she's done typing. "Are you sure it's okay if I come home with you for Christmas? Your family won't mind?"

We've discussed this a few times since I got back from Thanksgiving and I've cleared it already with Mom and Dad. They're excited to have another person to fawn all over. Frankly, I think Mom is just hoping to avoid the awkwardness of Thanksgiving. I'm pretty sure that Katniss is going to be the perfect buffer between us all.

So I answer honestly, "They love you. We're going to have a lot of fun and I could use someone to keep me from being bored out of my mind while I'm there. Are you sure you don't mind having to tag along?" I know she'd rather go home and see her sister, but I get that "want"and "are financially able to" are two different things for Katniss Everdeen.

She opens her mouth but the vibrating of her phone interrupts whatever she was going to say. She glances at it and a grin splits her face. Before she can stop me, I cross to the bed and grab the phone out of her hand.

"What the fuck, Katniss? Who have you been texting all night?"

Her phone is unlocked, so I can clearly see the text that's displayed. It's from Peeta and it seems to be a description of what he's doing to her pants.

Again, not a euphemism.

"Peeta's just sending me ideas he has for my pants. He's taking the plain pen and ink and adding some color."

I lock eyes with her and cock an eyebrow. "Are you even listening to yourself? This last one says _because it's my favorite flower_. What does that mean?"

"He's painting an orange hibiscus design. Scroll back and there's a mockup from his sketchbook. Orange is his favorite color."

Like an idiot, I do what she's saying; only to discover that it's really beautiful. He's also sent some shots of the painting in progress. I wordlessly hand her phone back to her, shut off the light and cross to my bed. I lay there for a minute as I hear her typing what is probably a good night message.

"You're really into him." I try not to sound excited or giddy. This could be the breakthrough I need to get the two of them together and get myself back on the male hobby horse by New Year's. Katniss's laugh is nervous, tentative. "No, really. You are," I state the obvious, again.

"Jo, I don't even know how to be into a guy. How does that work? Do you follow him around like a puppy and fawn all over him batting your eyelashes?"

I know this is a big deal to her, so I answer honestly. "You do whatever feels right. I don't think Peeta expects you to become something you're not. And a fawning sycophant you are definitely not."

"He told me…he told me that he cares about me. Not when you were gone for Thanksgiving, but before that." Her voice is quiet. Timid. I haven't heard Katniss sound this tentative since the day she first introduced herself to me.

"What did you say?" I'm genuinely curious. I get why she might have kept this to herself. It's not lost on me that, by deciding to share it, she's hit some sort of decision point in her relationship with him.

"I told him that I didn't know how to deal with that. That I wouldn't accept it. And he got angry – angrier than I've ever seen – like a totally different guy. He sort of stopped speaking to me, really. I hated it. So I started texting him stupid stuff: jokes and the weather and it sort of snowballed from there."

I may be from California, but I know that snowballs get bigger as they roll downhill and pick up speed. It makes me want to fist pump, because I think I know where this is leading. It's a lot slower than any relationship I've ever been in, but it seems to be working for them. And, if there's one thing I do know, it's that delayed gratification makes the release even better.

"That's awesome, Katniss." I truly believe it's going to be. And I only marginally want to take the credit for bringing them together.

"You really think so, Jo? You're better at this whole relationship thing than I am."

That makes me a little sad. _If she only knew._ "I do think it's awesome. Just keep doing what feels right."

When we finally say our goodnights, it dawns on me that she and Peeta have the answer to the question that Finn asked. Katniss tried to put it into words but no one heard her: Finn needs to insinuate himself into the tiny details of every day for Annie so that she has to think about him. Like he is laying tinder, carefully getting ready to light a blaze. It's not an exchange of goods at all: it's laying the foundation for a spark to catch fire.

-o—

We're at another frat party, attempting to avoid the panic attacks that signal our impending finals. I've dragged Brian along again so that we can have some couple time and so that he doesn't think that I'm avoiding him now that we're not having sex. Peeta's taken to home-brewing and has us all drinking some ginger beer (fermented, not carbonated, whatever that means) that's fizzy and flavorful. At least, Brian seems to like it so much that I wonder if he's got a bromance going with the Peeta for all the exclaiming and quizzing he's doing of our friendly brewer/baker/chemist.

Hey, if Katniss isn't going to make a move on Peeta, someone should. The poor guy deserves _some_ action.

Watching the two of them talk and laugh without so much as including me in the conversation, I recall why I don't like going to parties with Brian The Buzz Kill. I leave the two of them to discuss the merits of brewing and what Peeta's next recipe should be and scope out the rest of the party. After all, I'm pretty comfortable flying solo. Comfortable? What I really mean is that my untapped libido is making me hunt like a great white shark; insatiable and indiscriminate. It's probably for the best that Brian is with me, or I might end up with a tray piled higher than a visit to Golden Corral.

Truth be told, I would be bored if it weren't for my drive to fuck something. Every frat party is starting to look the same: beer pong and poker and keg stands, and people puking and hooking up and breaking up. There's loud music and grinding, sweaty bodies of various shapes and sizes.

Bored. Bored. Bored.

I find Finn chatting up a petite blonde named Karen. She's a little too girl-next-door for Finn's usual taste, but I can tell she's into him by the way she flips her hair in the universal girl signal for "land that ass over here". She's got a killer smile and immediately includes me in the conversation when Finn introduces us. Turns out that she's a fellow Engineering major, although hers is Bioengineering and I wonder if Finn realizes that he's going for more substance with this one than he normally does.

Truth be told, I'm a little disappointed that he's obviously intending to hit it with someone: doesn't his version of true love involve saving himself for Annie? I shake myself mentally for being a hypocrite. Who am I to judge how Finn spends his spare time? Until a week or so ago, nothing good on Netflix was an excuse for me to bone something.

But whatever. Karen seems like a nice person, so we talk for a bit. She lets it slip that she used to teach line dancing and Finn winks at me. I know where this is leading and I'm okay with it. Why not learn something new? At least I can line dance alone.

"Line dance? You mean like country western line dance?" Finn gives her the wide-eyed and moist lipped look that makes him look so innocent.

She blushes and hides behind a curtain of shoulder length hair. "I know, it's lame. But it was fun and it was, like ten dollars an hour. And you can do it to any sort of music."

I interject, "Oh, Karen... no need to be embarrassed. Finn and I, we were cheerleaders. And we did that shit for _free_."

She smiles widely and asks, "That was true?"

Ah, yes. Finn is freaking legendary and I say so.

Finn laughs his patented panty-disintegrator laugh, complete with flashing dimples. "Karen, nothing you do can be more embarrassing than having to wear Johanna here as a hat all through high school. I don't suppose you'd want to show us some moves? Maybe teach us some stuff?"

She nods, eyes shining. Fucking Finnick Odair loves a confident woman and she's just putty in his hands. So to speak.

Finn asks me to pick some music and I don't think the bodies grinding to the heavy bass are even gonna notice when I swap what they're listening to for a new song. I grin like an idiot when the opening to _Pom_ _Poms_ starts.

Hey, it's a perky song. So what if it's by the Jonas Brothers?

Karen's got us dancing in no time and all three of us are laughing. Pretty soon I look around and damn if she doesn't have a bunch of us dancing along with her: it's like we're the extras in the freaking Footloose remake by the looks of it. She's laughing and Finn's laughing and he has his arm around her and it dawns on me that she's pretty awesome. I'd want to be her friend if she wasn't about to become another one of the Odair Fuck-bots, the nameless, faceless parade of girls that Finn gets sees briefly and who then disappear from sight.

It's a great time and I've almost forgotten to be bored. Out of the corner of my eye, I see Madge stop a guy who has a girl in a sparkly sequined top thrown over his shoulder as he tries to leave the party. He's a pretty good looking blonde that I briefly considered as a tribute to my insatiable libido the night I slept with Gale. I think his name is Cato. I make my way closer to the two of them until I can hear her heated words.

Madge stands in between him and the open door. "I'm sorry, but I can't let you leave with that girl."

To say that Cato looks pissed is an understatement. He looks like he's about to mow Madge over. "She's my girlfriend."

Madge stands her ground and says calmly. "She's passed out. Are you aware that, in California, if the girl is drunk and consents, it's still rape?"

"Yeah, so?" Cato looks less attractive when his face gets red, like it's doing now.

Madge holds out a hand in a reasonable gesture, but it's like trying to reason with a crazed bull. "So I think it's best if we sober her up a bit. Once she's sober, she can decide if she leaves with you."

"Fuck you." He dismisses her with a sneer and makes for the door.

Without thinking, I intervene. Cato has no choice but to put the girl down when I poke him in the chest. "Can't find a girl with an actual pulse to sleep with? Sounds like the mark of an insecure guy to me. You must have something to hide." I hold up my pinky finger in the universal sign for small peen. I notice that Madge and Finn have eased the girl wearing the sequined top – I've nicknamed her _Glimmer_—into a sitting position and are attempting to wake her up. I decide to toy with Cato a bit to take his attention off of them while they assess whether we need to call in a professional to make sure she's alright.

His eyes narrow, "Hey. I know you. You're a slut."

I laugh at him. "Someone sounds envious - like he wants a piece of Georgia."

Peeta's come over to join the commotion and sounds confused when he asks, "Who's Georgia?"

I look over my shoulder. "Brainless, that's my vag. I call her Georgia because she's prettier than a Georgia O'Keefe." I turn back to face Cato. "I'm flattered, really. Let me let you down as gently as I know how: if you told me that you were hung like a bear and had a vibrating dick with hips like pistons, I still wouldn't fuck you. Not even if I had a disposable vagina and was coated in full body latex."

Cato blinks, trying to process my words through his drunken fog. He's weaving on his feet. I can't even imagine how he was going to carry Glimmer back to whatever cave he inhabits without falling and hurting either one or both of them. With luck he won't remember any of this tomorrow.

Madge and Finn have gotten some signs of life from Glimmer. I idly wonder if Peeta is going to have yet another overnight guest: the guy should charge a nursing and room rental fee. I'm relieved that this scene is almost over, though. Even the brief fun of playing with Cato was only momentary and I'm right back to being bored. _Will this night ever be over?_

I can tell Cato's registered that I'm dissing him when he comes back with, "You wish you had a piece of this." He makes a crude grab for his crotch which makes me laugh out loud. He must not like that because his eyes narrow as he spits out, "You're a dyke."

"Really? Which is it? Do I have a lot of sex? Or sex with girls? Or a lot of sex with girls? Is your next insult going to be that I dress too well or my boobs are too big? Because I think you're upset that it's just you and your hand tonight. Look. We're doing you a favor: now you and the future stripper you were attempting to carry off can wait and hook up at another party. One where you're not so drunk that it's going to take a tomato stake and a twist tie for penetration to occur. Go home. Sleep it off."

I dismiss him with a wave and turn my back. That's not a smart move on my part because I hear him give a cry and then his footsteps rushing me. Next thing I know, there's the sound of him hitting the floor like a ton of bricks and Madge is standing over him with her hands on her hips.

"Fuck, Madge!" I stare at her, incredulous. Did she trip him? I swear, one minute he was coming toward me, the next he's flat on his ass. And Madge… she looks…different, somehow. Powerful. Not just bad ass, but bad ass and enjoying it. Like she's like to take a stiletto and grind it into his spine just to watch him squirm.

"Get. Out." She stares down at Cato, looking like a blonde freaking Wonder Woman or some sort of avenging angel. Finn winks at her from where he's still holding Glimmer. Katniss comes over with a high five for us both. Peeta and Brue help Cato to his feet and out the door.

Gale is the only one who doesn't move: he stares at the three of us like we've lost the little sense God gave us. And maybe we have – I doubt we've made a difference in Glimmer's or Cato's future choices. But I can't help feeling like we did a good thing by keeping Glimmer safe while she can't speak for herself tonight.

My great mood doesn't last long.

"Johanna, what the hell was that?" Brian runs his hands through his hair. He looks distressed.

I shake my head. "The guy was a dick and obviously too drunk to take her home."

"No. I mean, why did you get involved?"

"She was passed out and he could barely carry her. I was standing up for what was right, trying to keep her safe and make she was okay and you're going to give me shit for this?" I'm practically yelling at him, heedless of the group of people happily watching this epilogue to Cato getting ejected.

His next words slice through me. "It wasn't your business."

I feel ill and have to take deep breaths to suck air into my lungs. My voice drops to a dangerously quiet level. "What? She wasn't safe and you're saying it wasn't _my business_? Whose business was it if not mine?"

"You're making a scene." His voice is quiet too.

"Fine. Let's go upstairs and finish this. Peeta, can I borrow your room?" I grab Brian's hand and pull him past Peeta on our way upstairs. I wait until the door is shut firmly before rounding on him. "This is total bullshit. What we did down there – I would want someone to do it for me."

"Johanna, who are you? These crazy outbursts… they're not like you. The Johanna I love works hard and gets straight A's. She's serious and driven and she doesn't piss random people off by getting involved in their business."

I shake my head. "This isn't working, Brian. That Johanna – she doesn't exist. I'm impetuous. I like to laugh. I like having male friends, and I like being loud. Maybe you just never saw it before." Brian's jaw clenches and I feel a little tug down low that makes me want to run my tongue along it and tell him it will be ok. But it won't and I can't let sex dissuade me from doing what I see is the right thing.

"I have plans for us, Jo." He's walking toward me, pleading. "We get our A's and I get assigned to a submarine. You do graduate school in Connecticut or Massachusetts while I'm in Groton. We get married…"

"Whoa." I put my hand against his chest and push him back lightly. "Married?"

He ducks his head and nuzzles my neck, "Yeah. I love you. But you need to stop all of this craziness and act with some decorum. I'm going to be a naval officer someday."

I pull myself away. "No. _This_ is crazy. We're eighteen years old! We should be having fun and discovering who we are, not putting together the master project plan for our lives. I just want to have fun."

His hazel eyes look sadly at me. "Then I guess we want different things."

"Yeah." I know this means goodbye. Part of me actually wants to cry over it because I feel like I've invested so much in him and in us. And I do genuinely care about him. But the part of me that was bored downstairs is whispering in my ear that it will be better this way: he can find the love he deserves and I can find, well, whatever I want.

"So this is goodbye. You're going to regret this in a few years." He shoves his hands in his pockets.

"I don't doubt that," I say. Hell, it's probably true. The guy is hot and stable and totally normal with a bright future ahead of him. What the fuck am I thinking?

I sit down heavily on Peeta's bed after the door slams and realize I've achieved the frat house trifecta: I've puked, hooked up and broken up all in the same frat house. I idly wonder if Lambda Chi will have a plaque made for me as I hug Peeta's pillow to my stomach and will myself not to cry.

_-o-_

(A/N: Special thanks, as always, to BaronessKika, MeggieMellark, Sighing39, Soamazinghere and Honeylime08 for pre-reading and just being amazing. If you're not reading Flesh and Bone or The Endless In Between, You're missing some real A/U treats!

_Additional thanks go out to Doc for correcting all of my hyphens and for being my biggest supporter. I love you._

_My little radio silence for the past week was due to a job transition. I should be back on track._

_Lastly, please consider supporting the cause at fandomforLLS: it's a great cause with some amazing writers and never-before-published works! You can find it here: _fandom4lls dot blogspot dot com _(replace the word "dot" and remove the space to get the actual URL.)_

_An excerpt from my submission is available at _johannaismyspiritguide dot tumblr dot com under Fandom 4 LLS Submission.


	18. War

_I do not own The Hunger Games._

_Trigger warnings: violence, child death._

_For Emma._

**War**

I flop down on the grass with Brue not far behind, catching my breath to the soothing sounds of L.A. traffic.

"Want to talk about it?" he asks as he eases his lean frame next to mine, "I can be a good listener."

I snort. "Fuck, no. I'd rather not get love advice from a guy who'd rather stay at home and shave his body hair than go on a date. As a matter of fact, I'd rather watch the porn version of _Doctor Who_."

"The what? "His white teeth flash against his tan skin. No one has a right to look that good when they're sweaty.

I make a tsk-ing sound. "It's not called _Doctor What_. It's called _Doctor How Hard_. It's the tale of a Time Lord with several incarnations who travels through time doing different women along the way. It's really riveting theater."

Brue smirks. "Stop trying to get us off topic. We were discussing your recent break-up."

"We were never on that topic." I look for a way to stave off whatever deep conversation he wants to have about my love life, or lack thereof. I find it when I swipe his iPhone.

He laughs. "You're going to be disappointed: I don't have a single track by Adele on there."

"Fuck you, Brue," I say, but it lacks my usual heat as I settle his earbuds in place.

The tracks are really good and I tell him so. His look tells me he's waiting for the inevitable criticism to cross my lips, but none comes. He leans back with a pleased smile on his face that gets wider when I ask if he can send me copies. _Calm your jets, buddy, it's not like I'm blowing you or anything, _I think. Although I can't help from smiling back when he pulls an earbud from my ear and shoves it into his own, the iPhone resting between us.

-o-

I storm out of the Health Center blinking away angry tears and cursing fluently at Dr. Aurelius. I'm so angry that I'm going to go back to my dorm room and watch Avengers XXX in the hope that there's a slash scene that involves Hawkeye. _What a fucking assho—_

"Fuck!" I yell vehemently as I slam into something or someone.

Strong hands steady me and a concerned voice asks, "Jo, you okay?"

I push his hands away, probably harder than I should. "Peeta, you dildo, what the hell! You waited for me?" We still haven't talked about the strange timing of our appointments.

He blushes a little. "Yeah. I figure you've been at it for about four weeks now. That's right around the time when it gets a little uncomfortable. Want to talk about it?"

I look at him like he has two heads, the fury gathering. I swear, if I had laser beam eyes like that hot guy in X-Men, he would be dust right now. Fucking dust. I enunciate every word, spitting it out, "No. I. Do. Not. I'm going to go home and watch gay slash superhero porn."

I run my fingers through my hair, making it even spikier and continue speaking in spite of myself. "The thing is I went in there fully expecting to talk about Brian. I even had worked on it in the Jo Journal. But we got derailed when he asked me about my nightmares and he ended up asking me about Carys. Dr. Aurelius is an insistent dickhead."

Peeta stands patiently through my little tantrum. "I figured he'd want to talk about your sister around now."

"And you didn't warn me?" I slap him on the arm, hard.

He looks contrite. "Sorry. I should have warned you. I thought I'd wait for you in case you wanted someone to talk to or walk home with."

My voice is low, like a growl and I hit him again. "Will you stop patronizing me and treating me like a girl? I am not going to break because my shrink got pushy."

He actually has to grab my wrists as I keep hitting and poking at him. I'm not exactly sure what's gotten into me, but it feels so _good_ to hit someone, even if that person is Peeta. I'm sure I will feel bad about it later.

"I have an idea. You have your student ID, right?" When I nod, he just says, "Come on."

He drags me by the wrist the two blocks to the Lyons Center. I've yet to see the inside of it, seeing as how I like to view actual scenery when I run rather than dress like a gym bunny in tiny color-coordinated spandex outfits. As he slaps our IDs on the desk and pulls me into the facility, I can't help but be amazed at all the perfectly made up girls who are sweating as they try to pick up next year's first round NFL draft pick while they work out.

Only in L.A., I guess.

He's putting some sort of hat on me while I ruminate on what it would take to get me to use the treadmills here with the beautiful people. I finally decide that it would be a solid week of rain. Good thing it never rains in Southern California, right?

Peeta faces me, finally, wearing the same head protection as I have on. I get a chance to look around and realize we're on a wrestling mat – I vaguely remember them from high school – in a room by ourselves. Peeta wants to wrestle me? He's got to be kidding. With the mood I'm in, I'm pretty sure I could rip the head off the poor kid. In the "fuck it, friend it, kill it" categories that Finn had joked about, I'm only interested in one activity today and it draws blood.

He motions to me in a way reminiscent of _The Matrix. _"Come on, Jo. You didn't want to talk, so let's do this."

"Oh, Brainless, I don't think you can handle me when I'm angry." I narrow my eyes and circle him.

He follows me, making sure I'm never behind him and laughs. "Who are you, Bruce Banner? Come on, _little girl_. I'm pretty sure I can take whatever _you_ dish out."

I see red. "Did you just call me a little girl? You won't hit me. You're too much of a gentleman." I reach out and smack him in the ass then dance away gleefully.

Peeta paces me again, watchful. "I did. And it's not even going to bother me to suspend my manners for now."

"No mercy?"

He nods. "No mercy."

I dance toward him, but this time he's ready. Somehow he trips me and I end up flat on my back, all the air knocked out of me. I lay there wondering how I ended up looking at the ceiling as I try to suck air into my lungs.

_He's going down._ I get to my feet and narrow my eyes analyzing my advantages and disadvantages: I'm faster than he is, but his reach is slightly longer and he outweighs me by seventy five pounds. I'm looking for the best way to inflict the most damage when I realize I already know my next move.

I let him goad me into coming closer. When he cuffs me on the shoulder, I lean into it and tense so the contact has a nice resounding thud. I drop my other shoulder and cup the one he just hit, sniffling loudly.

He continues to circle me. Dammit, I'm going to have to work harder to draw him in.

I continue to cup my fake injury and show just the right touch of fear on my face. I know it's working when his narrowed blue eyes widen with just a touch of concern. When he reaches in for another hit, I'm ready – both hands push his chest as my leg sweeps one of his forward and he crashes to the mat.

I smile in a feral grin. "How does it feel to get knocked on your ass by a girl, Brainless?"

"You're going down, Jo." Peeta rises with a look of grim determination and I wonder if I might have misjudged him.

I shake it off and rush him, head angled towards his midsection. He deflects me easily to one side with a swipe to the head and I'm suddenly thankful for the protective gear. I use the momentum he's produced to turn around and punch him with my left hand. My knuckles throb like I just hit a brick wall and I wonder if he has body armor on under his shirt; it's not like I get into a lot of fights, but he just seems so – solid.

I throw the next punch with my right hand at his stomach, but he blocks and shoves me backward. I stumble as he trips me so that I'm staring straight at the mat.

"Had enough, Jo?" Peeta, only now starting to breathe heavily, offers me his hand and I use the leverage to launch myself furiously at him. I pound his shoulders, get one more good stomach punch in, and rake my short nails down the unprotected part of his face.

"Ouch! Dammit, Jo!" Peeta cuffs my padded headgear like a cat playing with a ball. It's enough to push me away as he gingerly feels the scrapes on his face. "I take it that means no."

My chest rises and falls and I feel like I can't catch my breath. "Are you…Are you mocking me?" I go after him again and he sidesteps, grabbing me in a hold that grinds my earrings between my headgear and my ears. I struggle and somehow catch his elbow with my eye, which immediately starts to water.

Good. Let him think I'm crying.

He pushes me off of him hard enough that I smack against the padded wall. I bounce back, picking up speed and yelling as my fist flies at his face. I catch him higher than I intend and his eye starts to water as I suck in my breath from the fire in my knuckles. He hisses and grabs the side of his face. I use the fact that his right side is now exposed to try for a punch but he jerks his arm down protectively and his elbow collides with my wrist.

We spring apart. He rubs his eye as I wipe the tears from mine.

"Are we done?" he asks.

I snarl. "Hardly."

-o-  
We both lie on the mat nursing our injuries; my eye throbs, the knuckles of both hands are swollen, and I'm sure I'll be limping in a little bit from the giant bruise forming on my shin. Peeta doesn't look much better with his swollen eye, scratches down the side of his face, and ripped t-shirt. I'm not even sure how that last part happened, but I'm not sorry. I feel like jelly: I could stay on this mat and not move for a year.

"I want a rematch," I complain, rubbing my wrist and wishing for an ice pack.

"Maybe in a year or two when you calm down. You know it's your lack of patience that eventually let me pin you, right? Well, that and a second at the state wrestling championship." Peeta sounds smug.

I grumble. "Yeah. And the fact that you outweigh me by half my body weight."

"You needed it." Peeta sounds so logical. I wonder if that's a special gift – to always be able to look at every situation calmly. I have to admit I'm a little envious.

"Thanks. How'd you know?"

"I'm youngest of three boys, remember? This is how the Mellark boys regularly get out frustrations; I'm not even talking about my mom this time." Peeta quips.

I chuckle a little. "I don't get how you can do that – joke about her."

Peeta shrugs. "I guess it's laugh or cry and I'm tired of crying. How about you, Jo? Want to tell me about your sister?"

I'm too tired for snarkiness or even anger and it dawns on me again that those Mellark boys deserve more credit than they probably get. I'm so wiped out that it's too much work to raise my middle finger and flip him off. I'm not sure what I'm expected when I open my mouth, but it's not what comes out.

"She would have been ten in August." I close my eyes, opening the mental door to the room I keep locked with memories of her inside. "She hated having her hair brushed and always smelled like green apple detangler. She liked to follow me everywhere and was especially fond of rainbow sprinkles." I smile for a second, lost in the memory of her smile the few times after I got my license when I took her for ice cream and to the marina to watch the boats. Or when she would dress us both up like Disney princesses and we would watch movies when Mom and Dad went out and the boys played video games. I still remember all of the songs –

Peeta asks quietly, "What happened?"

I open my eyes and stare at the ceiling. "She wanted to go swimming. Mom and Dad had gone out. It's not like I hadn't watched all of the kids before, but the boys wanted to play video games and Carys wanted to go in the pool. It's hard enough to supervise them all when they want to do stuff together, but it's almost impossible when they're scattered all over the house. So I told her to play upstairs. I needed to make lunch and she was always underfoot. Finn was coming over later and I told her we would go in the pool then but she argued with me. Told me she hated me because I wouldn't let her have her way. When lunch was ready, I couldn't find her. I was so annoyed at her for arguing with me and then hiding and the boys didn't know where she was, either.

"The back door was open and she must have snuck out when I was making sandwiches. She was underwater. I could see her bright pink, brand new Disney swimsuit through the water and I was still mad, furious, really, that she disobeyed me. I dove in when I realized she wasn't moving but I still thought it was a game. I clearly remember thinking _I'm going to kill her for this_."

I pause, mind racing through the events of that day and afterward. "I didn't speak to Finn for half of our junior year, thinking that, if only he had been there earlier, maybe he could have saved her. I wanted it to be his fault. The truth is that it was mine. She just wanted to swim in her new bathing suit. I was her big sister and I should have made the time or kept her with me or done something with all of them that day."

It's quiet for a minute and I use the time to breathe in and out, deeply. I'm sure that's what Aurelius was looking for from me to today. I'm not sure how I feel that I just shared something so personal with Peeta, but then I remember the scar on his back.

"How do you feel?" He questions gently.

"Empty." I say. And it's true. I don't feel relieved; I don't feel any sort of release; I feel space in my soul, waiting to be filled up. I don't feel like I did right afterward, though, or even when I wasn't talking to Finn. This gap feels like it could be filled eventually, like the memory of that day will be eclipsed with other memories if I allow it. Do I want that to be the case? I'm afraid of losing her twice – the memory of her smile, her smell, her voice, all lost in the mundane memories that represent a life lived without her. The trouble is, I'm not sure how to keep the emptiness inside without it taking over my life.

"We should get going. It's late and I can't believe I've got a dinner to make after this. I think I'm fused to the mat." Peeta jokes even as he groans and gets up.

"I think I have some Advil in my room and maybe an icepack for that eye." I gesture to the swelling. "Sorry about that."

Peeta stretches his neck as he laughs. "No you're not; you're a bloodthirsty witch who would have slit my throat if there were weapons in here."

I laugh back. "You say the sweetest things, Peet."

-o-

We hobble back to my dorm room looking like something out of a zombie movie or _Fight Club_ and continue to rib each other.

"I'm serious, man. I want a rematch," I say as we stop to rest.

Peeta laughs. "_I _cheated? That's rich. You pretended you were a weakling to get me to go easy on you!"

I can't help but grin at him wolfishly. "Hey, it worked, didn't it? You're more bloodthirsty than I would have guessed."

"Is that supposed to be a compliment?" Peeta shakes his head at me.

We see Madge at the same time and both wave to her. She waves back until she sees us up close.

She's shocked. "What happened to you guys? Were you in a fight?"

Peeta blushes a little and it almost matches the color of the three scrapes that run from temple to jaw. Almost.

He mumbles. "You could say that."

Madge turns to me, a question in her eyes. I shrug it off and ask, "You want to walk over to the frat house together? We're just heading to my room to see if we can get some Advil for Peeta-the-Pussy over here."

She nods. "Yeah. That sounds good."

We walk up the stairs and I swear I can feel every single muscle in my legs protesting. This isn't the same pain as I get when I run too far; this pain feels like the creature from _Aliens_ dripped acid-for-blood on my joints. From his grimace and death grip on the railing, I can tell that Peeta is feeling the same.

What I wouldn't give for a hot tub.

Madge is babbling on about an idea she had to do something nice and "give back" to our dorm. Give back? Wouldn't that mean that I would have had to get something from living here in the first place? Oh, wait. I did get something: his name was Brian.

"I think we should make Christmas ornaments for everyone," She says, perfectly coiffed, blonde curls bobbing as we walk. "I talked to Andrea down the hall. She's the sort of bohemian girl who wears those skirts with the bells on the bottom? Anyway, she has a ton of yarn and she said she would show us how to make these little stockings – "

"Hold it." I hold up my hand to stop her from talking. Peeta looks at me gratefully for stopping as he comes to stand next to us on the landing. "Did you just say _Andrea_? From down the hall?"

Madge nods, all blue-eyed innocence and I wonder if she could possibly be planning something subversive, like an intervention on behalf of one Finnick Odair and his girl-crush.

I assess her for a minute as I catch my breath, thankful that I live on the second floor and not the third. I don't even want to think about the long walk to the frat house right now, so I focus on Madge and her sudden interest in our floor-mate. "You know who that is, right?"

She shakes her head, but I'm pretty sure I see a knowing gleam in her eyes, the little minx. She's done her own recon and is intent on playing matchmaker. I'm all for getting to know Annie and assess her for myself, so I nod thoughtfully before pushing through the mostly closed door of our room.

"That sounds like a great id—"

I don't finish my thought as I stop dead in my tracks and stare, unsure if I sustained a head injury earlier. I know that isn't the case when Madge and Peeta barrel into me. I forget about dinner at the frat, my muscle soreness, Finn and Annie and Christmas and little stockings and how crafty Madge can be, and how nice it was to unload on Peeta…

A single thought tears through me like an arrow through the heart: _get Madge and Peeta out of here before they see,_ because what's happening in front of us will rip them apart. I know I'm already too late when I hear a sound like Peeta choking on his tongue before his unmistakable footfalls barrel out of my room.

Because there's no way to mistake the proximity of Katniss and Gale, even if we hadn't walked in on them kissing.

* * *

_(A/N: How's everyone doing? I promise the angst won't last long and the next chapter is already in the works! Many special thanks to BaronessKika for talking me down off the ledge, and for everyone who commented on Tumblr when I had a little bit of a freak out there: chocolateleprechaunqeen, norbertsmom, theotheroneoverthere, deidre-of-the-sorrows, honeylime08, and occasionaladult.)_

_Have you heard of Fandom4LLS? It's a fundraising effort for the Leukemia and Lymphoma Society. If you donate$10 to LLS and send your receipt into an email address, they send you an e-book of original works that won't be seen until December at the earliest. Some great authors have contributed: HGRomance, Court81981, BaronessKika, Amelia Day, Sponsormusings…just to name a few. To check out more about the cause and how to donate, visit Fandom4LLS dot blogspot dot com.)_

For a brief look at my submission:

Title: Brighter Than Angels

Rating: T

Katniss Everdeen has a quiet life as a Phys Ed teacher. She volunteers to chaperone Fairfield Junior High's ninth grade annual trip to Washington D.C. and ends up finding an unexpected ally in the Home Ec. teacher, Peeta Mellark. Will sparks fly between the pair?

Excerpt:

"_Do you normally read about random restaurants in other cities?" Katniss took a sip of her water to cool her suddenly dry mouth. Peeta had slipped on a pair of reading glasses, the dark wire frames making his blue eyes appear shadowed and intense. His face suddenly appeared older and sexier. She squirmed a bit in her seat._

"_I did it to escape the fact that I'm in that city with seventy five kids and not on vacation." Peeta perused the menu selections, his face visibly brightening for a moment before it fell. "You like Spanish food, right? I didn't even think to ask." He ran a hand through his hair, mussing his blonde curls._

_Katniss smiled at the wonderfully boyish picture he presented with his hair askew, his eyes serious and concerned behind the glasses, his tie making him appear prim and proper. "It's fine. Frankly, I love any food I don't have to cook. And I'm sure it will be better than the potluck put on by Señora Kilpatrick's class at the end of the year. You wear glasses?"_

_He touched the rims self-consciously. "I only need them to read and only in certain lighting. My dad had to get them early too. Do they make me look old and cantankerous? Should I start wearing them to class?" he quipped._

_Without thinking, Katniss laughed. "No way. Half the girls in your class would pass out if you put those on during class." He looked pleasantly surprised at the compliment and she could feel her face flush. She hid behind her menu. _


	19. Fallout

_I do not own The Hunger Games._

**Fallout**

Madge mumbles some excuse to high-tail it out of the room. I let her go, since I've got an ax to grind with Katniss and there's no way I want Madge or Peeta hearing it.

I put my hands on my hips in the traditional kick-ass warrior pose. "What the fuck is going on!?"

Gale levels his gaze at me and opens his mouth, but I cut him off. "Not from you, Hawthorne. I don't want to hear from you. Katniss?"

"Gale, you should go." She looks around the room, obviously avoiding his gaze when she says it. I wonder for a second if I've misjudged the whole thing but she follows it with a side glance at him. "I'll see you at the frat and we'll talk then."

"But Catnip –'

She stares at him pointedly but I notice her eyes skitter away first. Like she's not completely comfortable. "Later."

I wait until he leaves before pouncing. "Seriously? _Gale_? What are you thinking?

"Jo, what the hell happened to you?"

"Don't change the subject." But I walk to my dresser and pop a couple of Advil. Now that the shock has worn off, I'm back to feeling like death warmed over. I vow that, when there's a rematch with Peeta, I'll train first. "What was that about?"

She sighs heavily and rubs her lips. "I don't exactly know: one minute we were talking about Christmas and the next he leaned in and kissed me."

"And you're okay with that? What about Peeta?"

"What about him? Jo, we're not dating or anything."

I blow a gasket. "You've spent the last month texting, giggling, and encouraging him. You don't think he has a right to be upset?" I never took Everdeen to be a tease, but she's sure acting like it and I tell her so.

I can tell I've hit a nerve when she crosses her arms over her chest and her jaw locks. Her tone is as sharp as knife. "No, Jo. He doesn't have the right to be upset. I never promised him anything, and sex isn't a transaction. He has no right to assume a claim on me because we've spent time together or he's put a lot of time into me. I don't owe him anything. I never _promised_ him _anything_. And fuck you for thinking I'm a tease."

I balk at the thought that she might consider Peeta a pity fuck. "It's not like I think he's due a certain amount of pussy-pounds for every minute that he's invested in your relationship, not even for a guy as nice as Peeta –"

"No. Shut up for a minute and let me talk. Why is it okay for you to jump anything that moves, but it's not okay for me to kiss someone besides Peeta? _Gale kissed me._ I'm not sure why he did it and I'm not sure how I feel. But the last thing I need to do is defend myself to someone whose longest running relationship is with her vibrator."

That comment is a direct hit and it stings as much as my new bruises. The only thing I can think of as a comeback is, "You're a piece of work, you know that? What about Madge?"

"What about her?"

I stare dumbfounded at Katniss and wonder how anyone can be that fucking clueless. "You really don't know?" I frown as Finn's ringtone interrupts us: he had better have a stellar reason for calling right now.

"Alexander Ludwig better be at the pool naked." I bark into the phone.

Finn laughs and then says quietly, "Jo, someone want to tell me what is going on? I show up for Tuesday night dinner and Peeta's not only _not_ cooking, he looks like he just watched _Old Yeller_."

"We had a little situation." Katniss is staring daggers at me and I'm wondering how much to say. After all, I'm still not sure exactly what happened.

"Gee, you think? He looks to be one step away from singing along with Celine Dion. What happened?"

"It was a Pacey, Joey, Dawson moment involving Katniss." I know Katniss won't get the reference, but Finn understands my obsession with reruns of _Dawson's Creek. _Something about Joshua Jackson's blue eyes make me go all weak-kneed.

"You mean an Edward, Bella, Jacob setup? With who? Wait. Not freaking _Gale._" When I confirm it, Finn whistles and asks, "So, honey, what's for dinner?" I can almost hear the mental shrug he's just given and roll my eyes at Finn's ability to get past all drama in search of fulfilling basic human needs. Which, for Finn, are food, sunscreen, shaving, and sex.

I look over at Katniss, who has taken a seat at her desk, picked up a book and is reading as if her world didn't just take a 180 degree turn. My spine locks with resolve as I watch her stare at the pages. Tuesday's are tradition and I am not going to let her and Gale wreck tradition. "Not sure. Look, Finn, did you drive to the frat house?"

"Yeah."

"Come and get me. I'll tell you the menu while we pick up supplies." I hang up with Finn and walk over to Katniss, who seems to be ignoring me. I stand there for a few seconds until it sinks it that she really is going to ignore me forever. Finally, I put a hand on her book and say quietly, "I'm going to the frat for dinner. I'm not sure if you're up to having a conversation with Peeta, but he's not in a good place. I get that you don't owe him anything, I do. But you hurt him, Katniss. You really hurt him. If you care about him at all, I highly recommend you get your ass over there and fix this."

"How?" She looks up at me and croaks. That one word, more than anything else she's said, tells me how hopeless she feels about this and, for the first time all afternoon, I let myself picture how lost and confused she must feel.

"Talk to him, for starters."

As I get my stuff ready to wait for Finn downstairs, Katniss stops me. "Jo, do you think he'll listen?"

I stop and consider how the normally mild-mannered Peeta might react to an apology. If I hadn't seen how easily he put words aside today, I might think she has a shot. But words aren't Katniss Everdeen's weapon of choice and today Peeta was in the mood for action, not words.

"I'm not sure the odds are in your favor, but it's a place to start."

-o—

Peeta is sitting at the table in the dark, three beers into a six pack. He has the empties lined up like sentries on his left while he draws pictures with the condensation on the table. His weepy, puppy-dog eyes aren't helping the aura of injured dejectedness that hovers about him. His swollen eye and long, angry, red scratches make his face look like hell. I wonder if he's put Neosporin on them yet, or taken an aspirin for the swelling.

"Drinking alone, Brainless?" I carry a couple of bags into the kitchen, followed by Madge and Finn who carry their own payloads. I motion for them to put their stuff on the table.

Peeta slurs a little, "Come to finish the job, Jo?" He thumps a fist over his heart and points to the knife block. "Knives are over there."

I muss his hair. "Nah. We've come to save you, not kill you. We're your buds, remember?" I gauge his reaction by dropping three tubes of Pillsbury crescent rolls on the table in front of him. I know he is in serious trouble when he doesn't even flinch. Peeta mumbles what sounds like a bunch of synonyms for buddy: friend, ally, consort, homey, confidant and mate all cross his lips.

Madge, who had looked about as happy as Katniss when I knocked on her door and asked her to come to the frat house tonight, tosses her hair, snags a beer and heads out back. Finn winks at me before grabbing his own beer and following. I am sure he is no doubt intent on offering himself as a consolation prize.

_Great._ Looks like I'm on cooking duty alone tonight. I uncharitably hope that Madge shuts his moves down fast so I can at least get some help chopping and mixing.

I keep talking to Peeta. "I wasn't sure what we were having for dinner, so I thought I would cook tonight. I'm not much of a gourmet chef and apologize in advance for it not being up to your usual efforts. At least it will be filling, though." When he doesn't answer, I place OREOS in a gallon sized baggie and proceed to violently bash them with a rolling pin. My bruised knuckles sing with pain, but I need OREO crumbs and the store didn't have any. All the while, I continue a steady stream of talk. I fill Peeta in on my classes, my running, even my earlier visits to Dr. A, just trying to hit a topic that gets a rise out of him.

"Peet, man, you sick?" Brue walks in the room holding his shirt in his hand, jeans highlighting the magic "v". The rolling pin pauses midair before cracking down on the table and I forget all about the pain in my hands. Hell, I almost forget to breathe as I ogle his tanned abs. My eyes snap back to his face and I silently pray that he didn't catch my stare.

"Hey, Jo. What's up with Peet?" Brue pulls on his shirt and motions to the silent form of Peeta, who is drinking more beer and hunched over the table.

I shrug. "He's a little under the weather, so I'm cooking tonight." When Brue cocks an eyebrow, I add defensively, "I can cook, you know."

"Oh? Well, a woman of many talents, then."

"Fuck you, Brue." I smash more OREOS for emphasis. "If you're going to be a prick, at least make yourself useful and slice up that onion and chop up the bacon while I finish this."

Brue puts on an apron and then obediently begins chopping. I melt butter and add it to the OREO crumbs to make a crust, pressing it into one of the frat house's endless supply of Pyrex 9x13 pans. I dump three large cans of cherry pie filling on top and put the pan in the fridge, then wash my hands.

"Bring those onions over here when you're done slicing them." I tell Brue, then ask the room at large, "Do you know what the first ingredient in Crescent Roll Happiness is?"

Brue pops his head over my shoulder as he dumps the onions into the two frying pans full of browning ground beef. "Crescent Rolls?"

I smirk at him and waggle the spatula in his direction like a club. "No, silly. The first ingredient is happiness. It's not only the first ingredient, it's the most necessary. We're supposed to only be thinking happy thoughts when we make a meal like this."

Brue walks to the table and pulls three cans of roasted green chilis, three cans of Campbell's Nacho Cheese soup, a jar of Emeril's Cajun Essence, a pound of bacon and three large orders of Aliberto's French fries out of the paper bags piled there. "What the hell are we getting ready to eat? Peet, man, back me up. There is like zero nutrition in this meal." He may say that, but I notice that Brue still opens the pound of bacon eagerly and begins chopping.

"This meal is not for the metabolically challenged. Now, think happy thoughts. We're paying Peeta back for all the memories he's given us this past semester." I chastise, wagging the spatula again.

I can't be sure, but I think Brue mumbles, "Yeah, by clogging his arteries."

I'm just about to hurl an insult back at him when I hear Peeta say softly, "That's what started Tuesday dinners."

I lean in close to the table. "What, Peeta?"

His eyes look very far away, like he's not even seeing me. "I took my worst memories from home – meals that my mom made – and tried to replace them with new ones. Good ones. You could gauge my mom's mood by our dinners. If it took a lot of work, you could almost guarantee that one of us was in trouble. Sometimes we wouldn't even get through the whole meal before she picked a fight." He gives a huge, shuddering sigh. "I thought I was fixing all of that and making good progress."

My heart thuds painfully in my chest as I consider what he's said. Peeta's meals have always seemed thought out in advance. It turns out that's because they are. Some of them took a tremendous amount of work and I have to wonder what happened to warrant those specific meals as candidates. Exactly how does someone pick the worst experiences of his life?

That's when I notice that I was wrong: Peeta isn't looking inside himself with his faraway stare. No, Peeta is looking out the back window to where Katniss is arguing viciously with Gale. The look on his face, the hurt, is as palpable as watching a boxer's face before a knock out. And he's not the only one watching the scene unfold, either. I spy Madge leaning on Finnick but staring daggers of her own in Gale's direction. Add Katniss to the equation –her eyes alone look like they could shoot fire – and I almost feel sorry for Gale. _Almost._

Peeta stands. With his eyes still trained on the dramatic tableau outside, he says, "I'm going to go lie down."

Brue has the decency to wait until he is out of earshot. "_Now_ will you tell me what is going on?"

I turn to him as he adds bacon to the frying pans of browning ground beef. "Don't you frat guys have some sort of 'bro code'?"

He nods, clearly perplexed. "Yeah, 'bro's before ho's'. Why?"

I stir the sizzling mess in the pan. "Because Gale kissed Katniss, that's why."

He reacts exactly the same as Finn did – he lets out a long, low whistle. When I point the greasy spatula at him, he throws his hands up in supplication. "Hey, don't take it out on me. I've never moved in on someone else's girlfriend." He watches me stir for a minute, then quips, "Well, this Bella, Jacob, and Edward moment must really screw up your plan."

Did everyone see that fucking movie?

I scowl at him and continue stirring, very conscious of his nearness.

He props a hip against the counter and I try again not to stare at his lean hips perfectly encased in jeans while he assesses me from head to toe. "Is that why you and Peeta look like hell?"

Well, fuck. I almost forgot about my therapy session and the wailing I dealt Peeta afterward. Okay, okay, maybe we wailed on each other. And that makes me feel even worse about the pain Peeta's in right now, like he got screwed twice for just trying to be a good guy. It makes me want to go outside and kick Gale in the shins and scream at him: _Why her? Why now? _ I stare at a frying pan, not even sure what to tell Brue.

Finally, I just say, "Peeta was giving me a wrestling lesson." It's pretty much true, and Brue doesn't have to know that it was as much therapy as my session with Dr. A. I gesture for him to open the chilies and dump them in the pans.

He gapes, "You're not even going to drain the fat off that meat?"

I raise an eyebrow. "Crescent. Roll. Happiness. Just dump them in and trust me."

We tip the rest of the ingredients into the frying pans and mix, then pour into Pyrex dishes and top with a sheet of crescent rolls for each pan. I slide them into the oven as Brue looks on skeptically.

"Where's Peeta?" Katniss asks as she comes back inside. She's out of breath and flushed. I notice that Gale does not follow her, even though Finn and Madge do. _Good. Let him brood out there in his own dark stink._

"He saw the monstrosity that Jo is making for dinner and I think it made him sick: he went upstairs." Brue winks as he passes by to set the table, grabbing my hips for balance when he accidently bumps me. The jolt of heat his fingers send to me core is as surprising as his wink.

I tease him, "You can hate on it now, but you're gonna love it."

Finn is watching the two of us with an eyebrow raised and I realize how much our conversation sounds like foreplay. I frown and shake my head at Finn because that's not how I meant it at all.

Katniss's lips thin out in a determined line. "I'm going to go get him."

"Katniss, are you sure that's a good idea?" Madge looks at her with wide eyes. I figure that, if anyone understands how Peeta's feeling, it would be her.

Katniss swallows hard and nods.

-o—

Twenty minutes later, I'm dishing out casserole but Katniss and Peeta are still upstairs. Gale has joined us, though, and it's tense in the room even without them. I debate serving portions for them anyway because Crescent Roll Happiness doesn't really reheat well when I hear Peeta's heavy footfalls coming down the stairs. He's tight lipped and has his arms crossed in front of him, like he's down here under protest, but it solves my problem so I 'm happy.

The group puts Katniss and Gale across from each other and as far from Peeta and Madge as we can. It's funny, really, because we didn't even discuss where everyone would sit but have sort of fallen into an adjustment of our usual places. We take our seats as Brue pours water for everyone but Peeta, who is still knocking back beers from the endless supply in the fridge.

I doubt he'll even taste the crescent rolls if he keeps drinking at this rate. At least we'll all be able to pay him back for all those nights he took care of us when we were drunk, though.

Finn clears his throat after everyone has taken their first bite of the salty, cheesy, potato-y goodness that is my version of bacon-chili-cheeseburger-Cajun fries with crescent roll topping. "Everyone, I have an announcement. It's something sensitive…and I need your support."

My stomach drops almost immediately with the possibilities. It could be anything coming from Finnick Odair: something with his dad, pregnancy, STD, cancer, school transfer, hang nail.

He bows his head, cheeks flushed. "That girl I met? Karen?"

_Oh, fuck. Oh fuck – _

He puts his trembling hand to his forehead. "We hooked up. And it was great, really nice; she's got a surprisingly smart head on her shoulders. Really easy to talk to, too –"

"Finn, get to the point." Brue's dark sapphire eyes are trained on Finn and I realize that I'm not the only one panicked by Finn's demeanor.

"I couldn't…I couldn't…you know." Finn stares at his plate, fiddling with his French fries.

Madge doesn't catch on. "Couldn't what?"

Finn's green eyes are stormy when he says, "I couldn't close the deal."

There's a moment of silence and I feel my shoulders relax immediately: impotent Finn I can handle.

"You mean, like, have sex?" Katniss asks. I notice with glee that she's plowing through her meal. _Take that, Brue._

"Yeah, Finn, there's nothing to be ashamed of there. I'm sure there's a medical reason." Madge nods, agreeing with Katniss.

"God. Do you guys think – I got an erection just fine. I couldn't _finish._" He looks aghast as he realizes what we all imagined.

"So what happened?" Brue smirks down the table at Finn.

"Well, we were talking and I pulled some patented Odair moves on her. She couldn't resist _as usual_, and I moved in. She was blowing me and I was totally into it – "

"Wait a second. Wasn't Karen the sort of curvy one? The braniac line dancer?" I interrupt, as I try to place the girl.

"Oh, Jo, chubby chicks give the best head." Gale says. Finn nods and even Brue agrees. I'm pretty sure Katniss and I wear the same horrified expression. Since when is "curvy" the equivalent of "chubby"?

Peeta chimes in, "Yeah, Delly gives great head."

I don't know who Delly is, but Katniss's reaction is immediate. I'm thankful that Peeta is most of the table away from her, or he would be dead. "Delly gave you a blowjob?"

Gale ignores Katniss and nods at Peeta. "Yeah, I've heard that too. She's a master cocksucker, bro."

Katniss's face goes tomato red as she rises from her seat and practically shouts at Peeta, "Delly, gave you a blow job?"

Peeta looks oddly pleased, like he's enjoying the verbal sparring match as much as our time on the mat earlier. He gives her a crooked grin. "So what if she did? You kissed Gale."

Gale stares at Peeta and laughs then swings his eyes back to Katniss. "Yeah, Catnip. You kissed me. So what if Peeta got his cookie sheet greased by Delly?"

That's when I realize that, as much as the boys may hate each other right now, they both hate Katniss more. They want to _hurt _her. It makes sense for Peeta to feel that way, but Gale? What did she say to him outside that would have hurt him?

Katniss looks completely out of her element, eyes moving from Gale to Peeta. "But that was just a kiss."

Finn joins the fray and tries to be diplomatic. "A blowjob is _like_ a kiss, only with more tongue, saliva, and suction."

He does have a point.

"Seriously, though, can we please focus on me for a minute here? I'm having a crisis." He pushes his near-empty plate away, clearly giving himself more of a stage. "So she's going to town on me and it's superb, really. But nothing's happening, so I catalog what I had to drink. I'm not drunker than normal, so that can't be it. I figure maybe I need a little more friction or something, so I pull out a condom and ask if she's interested."

"Dude, she had your cock in her mouth. Of course she's interested."

"Gale, it's important to be a gentleman and ask before penetration. Anyway, she says yes. I'm pretending I have Justin Timberlake hips and really giving her a good ride, but nothing's happening. As good as it feels, my mind starts to wander and I know that's not good for _things._ I had to put a lot of effort into saying focused and nothing I thought of worked to get me there."

"Nothing? Scarlett Johansson is my go-to. Works every time." Brue pops a fry in his mouth.

Brue needs a go-to image? I open my mouth to tell him what a class act he is, having sex while picturing someone else, but get interrupted.

Madge looks like she is totally enjoying the awkwardness of the conversation. "So what did you do?"

Finn shrugs. "Nothing. She sort of tapped me on the shoulder eventually and said that she could tell I wasn't into it and was obviously _taken_. What does that even mean?"

"Aw, that was sweet." Madge claps her hands. "She saw that you're into another girl and stopped you."

"Finn, that's like a sport-fucking party foul. Poor Karen."

"I know, Jo. I know." He shakes his head mournfully.

"So how did you handle it?" I'm curious: this is so far outside of what I know that I'm not even sure I know what I would have done. Actually, I probably would have faked it and then gone home.

"Well, the Mellark bible says that you should always take care of the lady. So, I went down on her until I was sure she had come. You know, sort of thanking her for all of the effort, making sure I practiced good customer service. Peet, man, that book is genius, by the way." Finn nods at Peet who quirks a crooked, drunken smile his way.

"When we were done, we got dressed and she kissed me gently. She told me to go find the girl who held my heart. I think my sport-fucking days are over, Jo." Finn turns teary eyes toward me. "I think I'm a goner."

"Well, I think it's sweet. We just need to get you and Annie together." Madge says matter-of-factly.

Finn turns his green eyes in her direction. "Madge, what if it doesn't work? What if it wasn't a fluke? I think I need therapy. Maybe you could help me out? You know, since we're friends?"

Madge's eyes ignite with the fire I saw while she was outside looking at Gale. She flips her hair and giggles. "Oh, Finn. I'm really flattered –"

Gale's eyes narrow slightly. _Oh, no, buster. You don't get to kiss Katniss and then get territorial over Madge. _ I decide that Madge needs a little pick-me-up compliment. "Dude, if anyone can turn your pumpkin back into a carriage, it's Madge." I send her a grin and she shoots me an impish smile in return. Yeah, she knows exactly what I'm up to.

"Although I would love the chance to, um, whip you into shape, I really think we should see what happens with Annie. True love could cure you." Madge says gently.

"But –"Finn has the mournful eyes of a basset hound.

Madge laughs. "How about this: if we get you two together and it still doesn't work, then I'll stage a personal and private intervention. Just the two of us?"

I don't miss Gale's frown and neither does Madge. Finn grins at her, though, and so do I.

"Who wants dessert?" I ask, as Brue collects plates and puts them in the sink.

"I just want to get drunk." Peeta gets up and stumbles to the fridge but Finn intercepts him before he can get there.

"Peeta, man, why don't you slow down?" Finn asks.

"No. No, I'm not gonna. I've had a helluva day today: therapy, got my ass kicked by a girl – no offense, Jo –got my heart stomped by another one – don't care if you take offense, Katniss – and am getting ready to go back home to a woman who will do both probably every day. So I'm gonna get totally shit-faced drunk." He grabs another six pack, Michelob Light this time, and staggers upstairs.

Finn looks at me and I shrug: I'm not Peeta's keeper and maybe getting ripped will help him deal with things. Although crescent rolls and Michelob Light mean his standards have dropped so far that he's probably only a few minutes away from watching fake-porn on Cinemax before passing out.

Katniss moves to follow him, but I grab her. "Where are you going?"

"To find out about Delly." She rips her arm from mine and bolts after him.

I call after her, "I'll save you some dessert." As fucked up as the day has been, there've been casualties on both sides.

Besides, if it's 'bro's before ho's', then I need to remind myself that it's 'chicks before dicks'.

-o—

"Who's Delly?" Madge and I are hanging out in my dorm room, ostensibly studying for finals next week. Really, we're waiting for Everdeen.

Madge looks up from her flashcards. "A girl from home. Her parents owned the shoe store next door to Mellark's Bakery." She looks down at her cards, carefully stacking each one on top of the last as she goes through the stack. It's maddening.

"So? Did she?"

Madge's eyes look violet as they meet mine. "Did she what?" Her brow furrows in annoyance, probably at me interrupting her.

"Did Delly blow Peeta?" I tap my toes on against the wall impatiently. How can Madge just _sit_ there?

Madge blinks and sighs, straightening her already perfectly aligned stack of cards. "I doubt it. Delly dated his older brother our last year of high school and Peeta doesn't seem like the sort of guy who would mess with his brother's girlfriend."

I make a noise of agreement. I have to admit, though, the whole day with Peeta – the physical fighting, the arguing with Katniss, the drunken anger – has me reassessing what he's capable of. I wonder if this a side of him that Katniss or Madge has seen before. "Peeta was pretty pissed today."

"Yeah. He has a right to be, though."

I consider the blonde beauty in front of me. To my knowledge, she hasn't even dated in the last few months. I shake my head at the thought of all that wasted time: if I looked like Madge, I would have a Facebook wait list and a Tumblr porn blog.

"What about you, Madge? Do you have a right to be angry?"

She sits quietly then gives a tiny shrug. "I'll get over it. It's not the first time Gale has broken my heart."

"Then why not get over _him_? Plenty of other fish in the sea." I'm genuinely curious about why she is so dedicated to a guy who is her exact opposite: where she is sweetness and light, he's dark and brooding. Sure, he's as hot as Zachary Quinto. But she's at least Dianna Agron hot herself.

Madge cocks her head to the side and quietly assesses me. "You like spicy food, right?" She waits for me my nod. "You know that feeling of intense heat that blossoms in your mouth, and you're not sure if you can get through it? Then you swallow and it's like a trail of heat all the way down to your stomach? That heat that lingers until all you want to do is take another bite?"

"Yeah." I'm not sure where she's going with this. I don't think Madge even eats spicy food.

"I'm in it for the fire. Sometimes it means I get burned, but I heal quickly. And I like the pain, I guess." She looks down shyly at the floor. "I have heat of my own, though. I don't think Gale is counting on that. And one of these days, he's going to end up raw and aching like I am. I'm going to love it when that happens."

She raises her eyes to mine and what I see there is actually a little scary: she's not shy, not at all. She's a phoenix whose heat shimmers below the placid surface of blue. I don't doubt for a minute that Gale Hawthorne has more than met his match.

Both of us look up as the door swings open.

"You guys waited for me?" Katniss is guarded and her eyes look oddly damp.

"Yeah, brainless. We wanted to make sure you got home okay. Right, Madge?"

Madge nods, all traces of fire gone from her face. She is back to being the perfect definition of cool.

Katniss's eyes fill with more tears and she blinks rapidly. "I just didn't – I wasn't sure if you guys were even speaking to me after today. It seems like everyone is mad at _me_._"_

Madge crosses the floor and hugs her, ever the diplomat. "Katniss, it's okay. We were just so _surprised_ today –"

_Yeah, especially when we found Gale's tongue in your mouth._

"—But we're over it now. Johanna and I are here for you." Madge rubs her arm and simultaneously pulls her into the room.

Katniss sniffs. "Thank you. I didn't know what I was going to do if you both stopped speaking to me."

"Anyone want a Chai tea latte?" I can't handle all the girly support that's happening in my room right now, so I cross to the electric kettle that magically made an appearance after Thanksgiving. I have no idea why Katniss spent her hard-earned money on it, but I'm learning to love it.

No one answers so I make three, handing them to Katniss and Madge where they sit on Katniss's bed. Madge is rubbing Katniss's back and Katniss is trying not to cry. I know the feeling all too well because I was in the same state this afternoon before Peeta let me have a different kind of outlet.

I'm guessing he didn't do the same for Katniss.

"He said he didn't want to talk to me and that just makes me so mad! Who does he think he is? It's not like he's the only one who's freaked out by what happened! I never thought I would see Peeta Mellark – God's gift to oration – ever refuse to talk through something! He's supposed to be the calm and rational one!" She takes a deep, hiccupping breath. "What do I do to fix this, Madge?"

I think she knows enough not to ask me: I already pointed her in Peeta's direction and that _obviously_ did not help.

Madge takes sip of her tea. "You want to fix this with Peeta?"

Katniss nods.

Madge puts her cup down and takes Katniss's hands in hers. "If you put the effort in, you're not just agreeing to friendship. You know that, right? There will be no friend zoning him this time around. Are you ready for that? Because that implies that you finally make up your mind about Gale, too."

Katniss frowns. "But there's never been anything with Gale."

Madge shakes her head and laughs drily. "I think you need to finally accept that isn't true. I mean it: if you lead Peeta on again, you will crush him. You have no idea the effect you have. You have to decide if you want a relationship with him or with Gale. It's not just about the amount of work it's going to take, it's about making yourself vulnerable. This is going to be about intimacy and letting whomever you choose see the real you. Think about it. Take your time. The time will help Peeta get over it, anyway."

"But Christmas break is coming – "

"That might not be such a bad thing. Perhaps a little distance and space will help make things clearer." Madge pats Katniss's hand as she sips her latte.

Holy shit! Madge is fucking Yoda.

I sip my own latte and watch Madge masterfully guide Katniss through her brokenhearted rant. I'm a little envious of Madge's skills, but secure in the knowledge that I didn't even feel as badly as Katniss looks right after my breakup with Brian. My own advice would be crap, presumably because I've never felt this level of heartache.

I guess that means my own heart is safe, right?

* * *

_(A/N: Special thanks to Honeylime08, BaronessKika, Dorsalfinnick, Sighing39, Forfuturereference and walker for their personal support and everyone else who has PM'd me, favorite, or followed this story and kept up with it. It's turned into quite a monster._

_Prompts in Panem on tumblr is starting next week. I'm planning one, maybe two outtakes from GNO for that challenge. I will post them here a day after I post them on the tumblr site._

_If you donated to Fandom4LLS, THANK YOU! We raised $9,000 in the fight to cure Leukemia and Lymphoma._

_Lastly, Crescent Roll Happiness is real, folks!)_


	20. Wrath (Outtake)

_I do not own The Hunger Games_.

**Ch. 20 (Outtake) Wrath**

Katniss smells oranges just before she feels Gale's lips touch hers. _Oranges, how strange, _she thinks. Is she supposed to close her eyes? She wants to pull away when his tongue touches hers, but this is _Gale _and she doesn't want to hurt him. Because then he would give her the silent treatment and she would lose him, just like she had after that conversation at the end of summer when he had briefly broached the topic of them dating once they got to school.

She had been able to put him off by saying that she was coming to USC to study, not date, and that there would be plenty of time for that later. He had been watching her face in the light of the fat full moon and she knew, _she knew,_ that he understood what she was really saying when she explained how important it was that he be there for her, always. Katniss couldn't afford to lose her best friend, not even to risk becoming _more_ with him, no matter how badly he seemed to want it.

Gale did not take rejection well and Katniss had lost him for months, until Johanna had dragged her to that frat party where she had bumped into him and Peeta.

He shifts closer, slanting his mouth against hers to deepen the kiss. Katniss recoils slightly, unable to hide her discomfort: she isn't used to kissing _anyone_. In fact, the only person she recalls being physically comfortable with (besides Prim, of course), is Peeta. And Gale is _nothing_ like Peeta. She moves a hand to his chest in the event that he tries once more to deepen the kiss. Whatever Gale thinks, she is not ready for more of that. Now that she is used to his lips moving against hers, has acclimated to the wetness and taste, she admits that it's nice. Comforting. As long as he doesn't try to take it further, she might enjoy—

Katniss hears the door open as loudly as she hears her own breath but it still takes her a moment to translate the sound into a push on Gale's chest. By the time she pushes a second time, hard enough that he feels it and pulls away, damage has been done. Jo doesn't walk into their dorm room by herself, but is trailed by Peeta and Madge.

Peeta's mouth gapes open for a split second before it snaps shut and he limps his way out of the room. Madge doesn't look much better. She is pale and her mouth is a thin line below glittering eyes that show…anger? Shock? Whatever it is, and Katniss is horrible at reading people, she knows that no level of comfort with Gale's kiss is worth this sort of fallout.

These girls, these _people_ matter to her.

_It was a mistake, _she thinks, as she shoos Gale out of the room so Jo can yell at her or throw things or hack her to tiny bits with her pen-knife. Katniss wouldn't put any of those things past Johanna, what with the way she is bruised and battered and sweaty. She looks like she just got mugged.

"What about Peeta?" Johanna asks after Gale has left and they are alone.

Katniss doesn't have an answer to that. The way she feels about Peeta is so new, so out-of-the-ordinary that she lashes out in anger. "He doesn't have the right to be upset. I never promised him anything, and sex isn't a transaction. He has no right to assume a claim on me because we've spent time together or he's put a lot of time into me. I don't owe him anything. I never _promised_ him _anything_."

Jo tries to backpedal once she sees how angry Katniss is, but Katniss continues, "Shut up for a minute and let me talk. Why is it okay for you to jump anything that moves, but it's not okay for me to kiss someone besides Peeta? _Gale kissed me._ I'm not sure why he did it and I'm not sure how I feel. But the last thing I need to do is defend myself to someone whose longest running relationship is with her vibrator."

Joe winces at that last comment and gives back as good as she's gotten, "You're a piece of work, you know that? What about Madge?"

Katniss closes her eyes, wanting to forget this afternoon ever happened. "What about her?"

When she opens her eyes to find Jo staring at her, she raises a brow. Everyone keeps intimating that Madge has some sort of secret. What is Jo trying to tell her? Surely it can't be something about Madge and Gale, or Madge would have said something to her. They were friends in high school, for God's sake! They used to sit together at lunch. Wouldn't she have shared a piece of information like that?

As Jo's phone rings, Katniss thinks about times when Gale and Madge have been together: at the frat house parties, Halloween, Tuesday dinners. Madge does have a way of looking at Gale. Katniss shakes her head, clearing the image of Madge staring doe-eyed at Gale over chocolate cake or beer pong. Or that strip poker night, when Gale had seemed incensed over Madge's state of undress –

Maybe there's something to Jo's allegation, after all.

-o—

Katniss corners Gale at the back of the frat. She knows Peeta must be inside because his bike is parked next to the house and she figures that she'll deal with him later. Gale is nursing a beer and does not seem surprised to see her.

Hey, Catnip." He says, like he did not change their entire friendship in the space of a few heartbeats.

She props herself up next to him on the cinder block wall, thankful that she won't have to face him for this conversation. "Hey."

"Want a beer?" He gestures to the keg that next to the grill that seems perpetually tapped.

She shakes her head fast enough that her braid thumps her shoulder. "No. I want you to tell me what this afternoon was about."

He shrugs. "It was a kiss."

"Yeah. I got that. Come on, Gale, you owe me some explanation."

He steals a glance at her. "You know, Katniss, did you ever think that maybe it hurts me that you don't think of us that way?"

"You mean, romantically?" She frowns. "You mean, you do? You think about it more than just today?"

He shakes his head. "You are the most clueless girl on the planet. Yes. That's why we had that conversation in August. I've wanted it for a while now and that's why I kissed you today."

Katniss sits quietly, processing that piece of information before hopping off her seat and rounding on him angrily. "That's bullshit."

He raises an eyebrow and takes a slow sip of beer from his red Solo cup. "No, it's not. God's honest truth, Katniss."

Her hands find her hips and fist there. "But you've run around with all kinds of other girls."

"What are we, in the 1950's? I haven't been running around: I've slept with a few other girls, yes. So? Sue me. I'm eighteen freaking years old, Katniss. What was I supposed to do? Pine for you, cold and alone, forever? I figured it was always gonna be us. You were just…taking your time. And those other women were interested. Hell, even Johanna was interested."

At Katniss's look of utter shock, he shakes his head. "You didn't know? She never told you?"

Katniss chokes out, "When?"

"That first night when the three of you came to the frat house. I don't remember a lot of it and I was still pretty hurt by our conversation from August. You weren't speaking to me – "

"_You_ weren't speaking to _me_!" Katniss yells.

Gale backpedals. "—We weren't speaking to _each other_. And then I saw you with Mellark and I just snapped, I guess."

Katniss stares at him for a moment. "You…you slept with my roommate to get back at me for _talking_ to Peeta?"

Gale looks at the inside of his cup thoughtfully. "I don't know why I did it. I was pretty drunk and she was there. I was so frustrated that you were giving him the time of day and you wouldn't even talk to me. It was supposed to be _us_, Katniss. And then Mellark comes on the scene and finally grows a set and it's like I just ceased to exist."

Katniss hands clench and unclench at her side. "That's not true, Gale. You weren't speaking to me. What was I supposed to do? I don't want what you want! But that doesn't mean that I don't…that I don't love you. "Her voice breaks. "Or miss you."

Gale's smile is twisted and doesn't reach his eyes. "You love me, but you're not _in love _with me, am I right?"

"What do you want me to say, Gale?" Katniss's voice is low. "I don't love you like that, no. But I don't want to lose you."

Gale hops off the cinder block wall, his beer finished. "I'm sorry to hear that, Katniss. Because this was my last try for you. When you're ready, I won't _be here_ waiting. Do you get that? You may not want to date or have sex or be in a relationship, but _I do_. I want a girl who is going to love me. Who can't wait to be seen with me. Who want me to wrap my arms around her and wants to sleep with me at night and thinks I'm funny and smart and handsome. I deserve that. So you say you don't want to be with me, but you also don't want to lose me? Make up your damn mind. Either way, it's not going to be the same as it was in high school."

Katniss stares at his retreating back.

-o—

Katniss is quiet through most of dinner, eating Johanna's bastardized version of bacon cheeseburger casserole. She has to hand it to Jo: for a girl who's never really wanted for anything, she can make a meal stretch. It's tasteless, though, and Katniss eats it to have something to do. Plus, she also doesn't want to irk Johanna any more than she has already today. She adds _obligation _to her list of reasons to eat.

She almost chokes on her crescent roll casserole topping , though, when Peeta lets it slip that he has carnal knowledge of Delly Cartwright. Delly is a sweet girl from their hometown and Katniss is pretty sure that she dates Peeta's brother. She can't imagine Delly wrapped around Peeta and she finds that she doesn't want to: it does funny things to her stomach and makes her want to hit someone. She also can't imagine Peeta lying about something like that. Besides, if Jo is right about Madge liking Gale, and Gale isn't lying about he and Johanna doing the nasty, then maybe her intuition is completely mis-calibrated. Maybe Peeta and Delly did fool around. Heck, maybe they still have a thing going on behind Rye's back.

She pushes her plate away, no longer hungry.

So when Jo and Brue start dishing dessert and Peeta makes a snide comment about her breaking his heart, not to mention potentially getting beaten by his mother when he goes home for break, she's had it. She pulls her arm away from Johanna, who tries to stop her, and stomps up the stairs behind Peeta.

_He's probably so drunk and so loud that he can't hear me, anyway._

She forces her way past him when he tries to shut the door.

"Katniss, I'm really tired."

"Well, you look horrible." She motions to his face where he's holding an ice pack up to his eye.

He gives her twisted smile. "Inside and out: I feel horrible too. Why are you here?"

She fumbles for words and wipes her palms on her jeans. "May I sit?"

"If I say no, will you go away?" Peeta says. It's the rudest thing she's ever heard from his mouth.

She remains standing. "I just wanted to talk about today."

Peeta sighs. "Look, I get it. You and Gale are a thing and I overstepped my boundaries."

"We're not a _thing_."

"That's not what it looked like, Katniss."

"Peeta, Believe me, we're not together. "

"Why should I, Katniss? Why should I believe you?" His voice is hoarse. "Look, I was jealous of him before I ever officially met you. A couple of months ago, I finally get the chance to get to know you and a month ago we go out." He shrugs. "No big deal for you. I finally get to tell you how I feel, something I've kept bottled up inside, and you don't respond. I should have taken Finn's advice and asked for your permission to even _think_ something could happen between us. You and Gale, you make sense. You deserve one another."

Peeta's last statement hurts: she and Gale are not the same. She's not in love with one boy and going out with another just to pass the time.

"That's all hogwash, Peeta."

"Is it?" He wipes his mouth with the back of his hand when a bit of beer dribbles out.

"Yes. Let me tell you something, Peeta Mellark. I told both you and Gale that I didn't want to date: Gale stopped speaking to me for two months. _Two months. _It probably would have been longer, but he slept with my roommate, which I just found out about tonight. Think about losing your best friend at the same time as you make your largest life change to date. How do you think that felt? Then, the boy who was the be-all, end-all in high school, the one who never, ever noticed me or spoke to me, becomes my friend. And one crazy night, that same boy says that he's cared about me for a long time. This boy who barely knows me but has always seemed genuinely nice to other people.

"What am I supposed to do with that? If this were a fairytale, I would be looking for a fairy godmother, I swear. But I'm not a princess in disguise, Peeta. I'm just me. And I've opened up to you in ways that I haven't open up to anyone but Prim, I swear. So please, please, don't shut me out. "

Peeta's blue eyes hold not a hint of pity or warmth. They simply look empty as they blink back at her. "That's really sad, Katniss. It is. I'm sorry that Gale stopped speaking to you, but I've got to be honest: the more time I spend with you, the more time I think I understand why Gale's a dick sometimes. I'm tired." Peeta slips off his shoes and socks and lies down on his bed facing away from her.

"Peeta—"

"Your pants are finished and on the desk. Grab them before you leave."

Katniss stops at Peeta's desk and picks up the jeans he's hand-painted for her. Fingering the orange and red hibiscus he's depicted on one front pocket, she says quietly, "You're really talented, Peeta. I'm sorry I never saw it before."

Peeta punches down a pillow and his angry blue eyes meet hers for a moment. "Yeah, well, you never saw a lot of things and now it's too late."

And with that, she's dismissed.

* * *

_(A/N: Originally written for Prompts in Panem's Seven Deadly Sins Challenge, this chapter was also requested by a few of you so that we could see into the actual arguments Katniss has with the boys. It's shorter than I intended, but the next few scenes need to be in Johanna's POV. The next chapter will (hopefully) not take me as long to wrestle to the ground. I have a few other story outtakes for both GNO and some new work! The GNO outtakes will post as we come to those scenes in the story – they are still up on the promptsinpanem dot tumblr dot com site, so PM me for more information. The new work is completely separate from my other stories and will post on this site today. Enjoy.) _


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